


Unalienable

by Basingstoke



Category: Highlander (1986 1991 1994 2000 2007), Highlander: The Series, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Decapitation, F/F, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 65,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are an X-Men comics fan, this is probably going to make you crazy, fair warning. This story is based on the movieverse, slightly informed by the comics but really not drawing from that canon. One must choose. Also, the story takes an obvious AU turn after X-Men 2, making X-Men 3 noncanon.
> 
> Thanks to: NYC beta Amireal, lawyer beta Melina, and überbeta Jacquez, as always.
> 
> [See the characters on my LJ gallery.](http://basingstoke.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/809%22) Now updated with a new link.

A lake, new, muddy, and lifeless. The birds are still shocked and subdued. All Scott hears is he whisper of the trees, the crackle of the fire, and the splash of oars in the water.

"Heard they used stuff like this to look for the Loch Ness Monster," Logan says as he rows.

"Our equipment is better," Scott tells him. He can see the tails moving on the fish beneath them. "And the only monsters in this lake are dead."

They already found Stryker's body.

It's like camping--the trips they used to take when it was just Scott and Jean and the Professor, before Ororo or anyone--but they're fishing with radar instead of a net. He remembers blasting the water to make Jean giggle, remembers drenching Erik and making the Professor smile helplessly while he lectured Scott on the proper use of his powers. He was never very good at fishing, but he could usually make his family smile.

He can't stop thinking of flowers. White lilies. White roses. White orchids. A coffin, buried in white flowers.

Then he comes across another shape and his heart leaps. "Stop," he says. It's the familiar starfish shape of a drowned human; they've already come across nine bodies, all soldiers. They're piling them on the other side of the lake. Downwind from the camp.

"Okay." Logan slows the boat and helps Scott spin out the hook. Just like fishing, but the line is cabled steel and the hook is remote-controlled.

He wonders how many soldiers there were in that base. A few must have escaped; a few were surely blown to bits. He wonders why _they_ are doing this, why there hasn't been a peep from any government. He wonders what the odds are of this being Jean. Logan exhales with disappointment before Scott can see a thing, and Scott knows then that they struck out again, but they reel the body up anyway.

The olive drab uniform is shredded like kelp, hanging in strands from neck, wrist, and ankle. The body looks better than the other corpses. It's a nice break. The bodies are refrigerated, near frozen in the subarctic lake, but death takes an inexorable toll.

Logan lifts the dog tags from his neck. "John Lyman," he says. "I think this was one of the guys who invaded the school." The man looks almost sweet, innocent in death. Logan tears one tag off and pockets it. Scott nods and joins Logan at the oars. Together they row to the burning pit quickly.

Halfway across the lake, Lyman opens his eyes, turns on his side, and vomits water into the bottom of the boat. Logan says it for him: "What the _fuck_?"

Scott moves to check his pulse and Lyman knocks his hand away from his neck, his eyes still dazed and dilated; Scott pins his hand and checks the pulse at his throat. It's fast and strong and impossible.

"Fuck!" Logan sneezes. "He's--there's something wrong with him."

"He's a mutant." Scott feels the back of Lyman's neck and there it is, the same evil little control disk that Scott wears. Lyman's eyes focus. He gags and coughs more water into the boat, his entire body wracked with the effort of expelling foreign material from his lungs. "Go to the camp," Scott orders. He drapes a blanket over Lyman's nearly naked body.

Logan rubs his nose and glares at the soldier. He takes one paddle and turns the boat, though, while Scott packs the reel so they can use the engine.

Lyman coughs in the bottom of the boat. It could be Jean. Could have been, if they had been faster. If they had been able. If they hadn't been fucked. "Who are you?" Lyman gasps eventually.

"Friends," Scott says. He glances at Logan and Logan shrugs, not objecting.

"Oh good. Friends." He coughs once more and his voice improves. He sounds almost like he has an English accent, but he speaks again and his accent is more Canadian: "Where the fuck am I?"

"Alkali Lake. You were underwater. Do you remember what happened?"

Lyman shakes his head. "You are... mutants." He gags, spits up water, crawls over to the side of the boat. He spends a long time spitting up water over the side before he meets Scott's eye again. "You're mutants too. Am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong. Do you need a doctor?"

"No!" Lyman's objection sends him back into a coughing fit.

"We know some mutant doctors."

"No." There is something weird about him, Logan isn't wrong. The man might be an asshole but his instincts are solid. "What day is it?" Lyman asks.

"September 19th. Friday," Logan says. They've been out on the lake for two weeks.

"Not so long then--" Lyman coughs once more, runs his wrist across his mouth and grimaces, spitting convulsively. He suddenly turns over and looks at the remains of his clothes. Looks hard. Looks horrified. And asks, sounding more than a little afraid--"What year?"

"2007."

He groans, harshly, and clutches the side of the boat. "Christ on a crutch," he breathes, resting his head against his hand. "It was 2001 the last I can recall."

And there's nothing they can say to that. Scott turns on the motor.

*

It's nearly Equinox. The days are growing shorter. With the low sun through the trees, it feels like he can see the color green.

Jean's eyes are green, she tells him. They look golden or light brown to him. Jean is as tall as Scott. She wears heels anyway, and then when he stands in bare feet, his nose nestles under her chin, her breasts pillow into his pecs, and his cock, inevitably, rises between her legs. She often wears high heels before bed, even if she hasn't during the rest of the day. Then she gives him that grin.

She's very smart, but more than that, she's incredibly focused. When she's working on something, she ignores everything else. Food, sleep. Her muscles knot up as she types until she suddenly cries out in pain. Then Scott rubs her shoulders and hands until she's ready to go again.

Lyman steps out of the tent dressed in some of Scott's spares, cargo pants and a hoodie. Even Scott's clothes are too big for him; he's very, very skinny. Scott can't work out how old he is. The lines in his face could be age or stress. Honestly, Scott doesn't give a shit, he just can't stop thinking.

Scott is cooking spaghetti over the fire. Jean explained to him once why you should cook pasta in a vat of water. But it's faster in the little pot, he says. Philistine, she says.

Lyman rubs the back of his neck. "Can your doctor get this thing out? It burns." His voice has settled into an English accent.

"Not yet," Scott says. The disc made him fire at Jean. He watched himself do it. He still watches himself in dreams, shooting at Jean, over and over. In his dreams, sometimes he hits her, and she explodes in a tangle of bone and intestine, and he wakes up screaming. He remembers on waking up that he didn't hit her. She stopped him. He remembers a second later that she's still dead, and then sometimes he makes some noise again. Logan hasn't said anything about it yet. He probably understands.

"What's your mutation?" Logan asks, almost friendly. He lights up a cigar. Oh. He's talking to Lyman. "Come on, we're all freaks of nature here. No need to be shy."

Jean won't let him call himself a freak. Mutations are natural, she says. Look at the peppered moth. "I've never been asked that question before. I had a book store. I suppose I don't any more, after six years. I had a small, quiet life. Dear friends that I didn't have to explain myself to. My name is..."

Scott stirs the spaghetti. You need a lot of water so that the pasta can flow free without sticking to itself. He's cooking in too small a pot again. Philistine, Jean says, and gives him that grin that says she's thinking about taking his clothes off. He knows this because she told him. He still can't believe she's his girl. "Adam," Lyman says. Scott glances up; Lyman is staring out over the lake. "Adam Pierson."

Logan draws the dog tags from his pocket and tosses them to the man. "I don't know who this is," Adam says, looking at the tags. He stands abruptly and throws them into the lake. "I don't know what any of this is!"

Whatever. The pot is boiling. Scott fishes out a noodle; yeah, done enough. "Uniforms? Tags? Where have I been?" Adam snarls.

Scott hauls the pot over toward the lake and drains the noodles. "Dinner," he says, and tosses the noodles in a pot with red sauce and olive oil. He made enough for six people.

He's hungry, so he eats. Logan and Adam are hungrier, so they eat more. Jean uses noodles to practice her telekinesis. Open your mouth, she tells him, and she tosses a noodle at him. It lands on his chin. Sorry, Scott says, I grew a few inches. Forgot to tell you.

Adam finishes first, nearly licking the bowl. "Can I make a phone call?" he asks.

"No," Scott says. He remembers Jean licking olive oil off his chin.

"I see. Can I sleep, then?"

There are only two tents, one for Scott and one for Logan. Scott glances at Logan; who's bunking with who?

"Yeah. My tent, green one," Logan says. "Use the sleeping bag. Save me a blanket. Try anything funny and I'll gut you where you lay." Logan pops his claws for emphasis and Adam startles up to his feet; metal knives shoot out from the backs of his hands and Adam cries out, doubling over and clasping his hands together.

"Huh," Logan says.

"FUCK." Adam's bellow echoes over the water. He falls back down to his knees. Scott rubs his forehead--he's getting a headache and he wants to cry and he's not showing either if it kills him--and sets down his bowl.

"Relax to pull them back in," Logan says.

"That hurt enough the first fucking time!" He's staring at the short knives embedded in his skin. Smaller than Logan's, but four on each hand instead of three. They're curved like half a drinking straw or like a very long, razor sharp fingernail, and they're aligned along the back of each hand bone rather than in between.

"Looks like he's version 2.0," Scott said.

"Yeah. And the woman was 3.0."

Adam looks at Logan. He looks back down at his hands, winces, and curls his fingers slightly. The knives retract and his skin heals as if nothing had happened. "Green tent?" he asks, sounding exhausted.

"Yeah."

Adam stumbles over to the tent. "Better bring him to the Professor soon, get his head screwed on straight," Logan says.

"Once we're done here," Scott says. It's still summer. The days are long. He'll find Jean. He will. She'll still be dead, but she won't be lost.

*

Adam Pierson, Adam Pierson, Adam Pierson, he repeats to himself, in his head. It took too long to think of something as basic as his name. He's still not sure what's real. He thinks maybe he's had many names. But not Lyman. Never Lyman. It sounds too much like Lying Man.

He's sure he had a bookstore. He can picture it, the rich wood desk, the satin wood shelves, the old-fashioned ostrich feather duster that he flicked over the shelves daily. Leather bindings like harness. Rows and columns of fine paper. He builds the shop around him like a wasp's nest. It's his lair. But he shares it with a man he can almost picture. He knows the curve of the man's body, he knows the feel of the man's smile, he knows the warmth and texture of his skin. He knows the way he buttons his shirt. He knows his walk. He cannot see his face. He cannot remember his name.

He remembers his life in books. He reads them, opens the cloth binding with the symbol stamped on the cover. He knows the symbol. It means Watchers, the people who observe. He observes his life on the pages of the book. He sees a man with his face making love to both Byron and his wife. Byron, the poet, still living in books. He opens Byron's poetry and sees a man with his face cutting open bodies. The bodies are already dead. He is learning from them. He is looking at a drawing of the body in a book, and in the book, there is a picture of the throat with all its secrets laid bare. There are the fragile tubes and the strong muscles. There is his hand, holding a sword, severing all this beautiful machinery.

He watches the blood pour out of the books that contain his life. It is a river, drowning him. He looks up, drifting, as he drifted in the lake. The blood no longer carries any heat. It is lifeless, empty. It is frozen. On top of the frozen lake gallops a man who wears his face. One horseman becomes four. They chase people, and they kill them. With every death, the lake grows deeper and colder.

He grows so cold, so heavy, that he falls through the bottom of the lake. Beneath the lake is a hill. Above the hill are the stars. He sees the man in the stars, the three bright lights that make his belt. This man has always been there. He calls out to the star man, but the man's face is turned away and he does not hear.

He reaches up and calls out. It would help if he knew the man's name. Why doesn't he know the man's name? They've been companions for so long. He was so, so, so alone before he saw the man in the stars...

He's elbowed awake. "Enough already," Logan says.

"What?" It's too dark to see. He wipes his hand across his face; it's wet with sweat

"You were yelling, bub."

"Oh." He presses both heels of his hands into his eyes. "What was I yelling?"

"McCoy."

"Oh."

"No. Wait. MacLeod. Too damn early," Logan mutters. He turns over and sighs heavily.

MacLeod.

He remembers now. And his real name is Methos.

*


	2. Nightmare.

Sun shining through the blue tent walls. Looks like a beautiful day.

Scott wakes up at dawn. He crawls out of his tent and finds their guest crouching at the edge of the lake, staring into the water. Scott steps out of the clearing to take care of pressing business. When he returns, Adam looks up. His expression is calm but distant. "I remember who I was. I can't remember what I've been for the past few years. It's blank."

"Lucky you. Want some coffee?" Scott cracks his visor and blinks at the wood pile. Optic blasts break up logs into kindling, though he still has to use a match to start the fire.

"I would die for a cup of tea."

He sounds like the Professor. It's creepy. "Sorry," Scott says. "We only brought the hard stuff."

"What did I do?" Adam asks.

"What? Nothing. There's just no tea."

"No. I did something I can't remember. Please, just tell me." The man is still, sitting with his hands folded across his knees. He looks older than his face.

The lake laps quietly against the shore. The birds are chased away, the animals are drowned, and even the bugs don't buzz around the fire.

"We were both used via a mind control drug," Scott says. He's being a dick. He's got to stop. "I live at a school for mutant children. The school was attacked by Stryker and a bunch of us were kidnapped. The others rescued us; the dam was destroyed and flooded the underground base, and my fiancée was killed. We're looking for her body."

"Both used," Adam says. "What did I do?"

"You were part of the attack on the school. You drugged and stole the children I'm responsible for."

"Ah," Adam says.

Scott is letting it go, and it's going. He's throwing his useless anger in the lake with the dead squirrels. Logan emerges from the tent, looking wary. He's surely been listening.

Scott shakes the coffee grounds into the press pot. "I had a bookstore," Adam says. "Before that, I worked for a historical society. Before that, I worked as an English teacher in Korea. Before that, Russian to English translator. Never a child kidnapper. Certainly never a soldier."

"Why do you make me feel like I have a bee up my nose?" Logan asks.

"You don't know?" Adam asks.

"I can't remember." Logan's eyes flicker over him. "I could be a hundred years old. I just don't know. But I've felt this way before, in Toronto, and again in Seattle. What is it?"

Adam looks down at his hands. He turns his wrist and the knives slice through his skin; he flinches hard. "Show me yours," he says, pulling them back in. Logan does and he takes Logan's wrist gently.

"Concentrate on what you feel, even if it doesn't make any sense. Just feel this," Adam says, and he puts his hand on the ground and drives the blades of Logan's hand through his palm. Logan stares at him. Adam grits his teeth. "Feel it," Adam says. "Do you feel it?"

There's a crackle of electricity along Logan's blades. "What is that?" Logan says. The blood is coming up in his cheeks.

"Let me go now," Adam says, and Logan retracts his blades. Adam holds up his hand and the electricity crawls over his skin, leaving it whole. "It's my quickening," Adam says. "You have one too. Like calls to like, and that is what you're feeling."

So he's just like Logan, a kind of brother. Lucky Logan. Fortunate fucking him.

"There are hundreds of us. Thousands. We're called immortals."

The cook pot boils. "Coffee's on," Scott says.

*

Adam comes out in the boat with them, because Scott isn't a dick, no matter how much the universe wants him to be. He can't leave the man alone with only a pile of corpses and his thoughts for company. Logan rows absently, barely following Scott's instructions. They're three-quarters of the way through the search grid and Scott is going to finish if it takes all year.

"But we're not all the same, right?" Logan asks. "I have this crazy sense of smell."

"We have common powers and a few of us have something more. I know of a man who talks to dogs and a woman who can control minds with her voice. I'm not so special," Adam says.

"But you can remember what happened before they caught you."

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptuous," Adam says, "but we're not immune to PTSD."

That shuts Logan up for a while, probably because the guy is right.

They're over the smashed base. Scott can see the outlines of structures in the radar, but nothing moving, not even fish. Adam suddenly freezes, and then so does Logan. "Hey." Logan sculls, keeping them in place. "Is that--?"

"Presence. We call it presence. There's another one of us under the water."

"I can't see anything on the radar."

"That has to be Yuriko," Logan says. "Jesus. I filled her with adamantium, but--"

"Did you cut off her head?" Adam asks.

Logan shakes his head.

"Then she's not dead."

Logan looks at him. "Scott."

"I can't see her," Scott says. "She was inside, right? Under the ground?"

"I can't leave her there forever in the cold and the dark!" Logan bellows. It echoes over the water. Dark, dark, dark. What's unsaid, what doesn't need to be said, is "you can't either." But Yuriko is alive and Jean is dead.

"We didn't bring scuba equipment," Scott says, because Jean was above ground.

"I... I can cut through the concrete," Logan says.

"But not breathe."

"God help me," Adam says, looking away from both of them. "Everywhere I go, I'm surrounded by heroes. There's a trick an old friend taught me. If I prepare and acclimate, I can breathe underwater." He looks back at them then. "If I bring her up, can I phone my boyfriend?" he asks.

Scott pulls the phone out of his pocket and hands it over wordlessly. Adam opens the phone and punches in a number, but he doesn't ring it; he saves it and hands it back to Scott. "If I don't come back up, call him. Duncan MacLeod. Tell him what happened to me. If I talk to him first, I can't do it."

He stands up, strips off his clothes--completely, they forgot to give him spare underwear--and jumps off the boat. Scott winces. The water is so, so, cold. But Adam grabs the edge of the boat and hangs there, his head underwater but his grip strong, as Scott reels out the winch and Adam grabs it with his other hand. There's a long pause. Then his grip changes to a thumbs up and he slips under the water.

They wait. Scott watches the flicker of swimming legs on the radar go deeper, deeper, and then disappear into the noise of the mud and shrubbery and trees. "PTSD," Logan says, snorting. His spine clanks when he rolls his neck.

"New code name. Shellshock."

"Fuck off, boy scout."

"I was never a boy scout," Scott says. He was shy and nerdy before his mutation manifested. He had cluster headaches for his entire life before he finally understood why. He wasn't the romantic hero for anyone but Jean. "Alley Cat."

"Lone Wolf," Logan growls.

"Stray Dog."

"Crouching Tiger!"

Scott breaks out laughing, the noise spilling out of him before he can stop it, and he can't stop, can't stop, he's hiccuping and choking and Logan grabs him and holds him together. There are horrible noises coming out of his throat, and maybe it's laughter, he doesn't know, because it can't possibly be crying. Logan slaps his back and they laugh together.

*

Scott is lying on his back looking up at the sky when the cable jerks against the reel. "Hey," Logan says.

Scott sits up. "It worked." He sets the wire to pull back in, slowly, so that Adam and whatever he found can hang on. He sees the cable alone on the radar, then a bulk, shapeless, which finally resolves into two forms side by side. Adam's hand emerges first and Scott grabs him and hauls him into the boat.

Adam leans over the side and presses his hand into his stomach, vomiting out water in a long, solid stream. He coughs a deep barking cough and hangs limply, water dripping steadily from his mouth and nose. He shivers epileptically but he's alive.

The cable is too heavy for the reel to haul in. The boat tips down dangerously into the water until Scott shuts the motor off. He looks over the side and he can see a woman's form, dressed in black, her long hair waving like seaweed in the water. "We have to tow her. She's too heavy. I think we would capsize." Logan nods and Scott fires up the engine.

Adam groans. Scott covers him with a blanket.

*

The woman is a statue made of metal and flesh. But the horror, what will haunt Scott's dreams, is that when they drag her out of the water and up the muddy shore, her eyes open and her lips twitch.

Her torso is filled with metal. Scott can feel the weight there, filling her lungs. She isn't breathing; her eyes are dilated with what must be panic. Her skin is ice-cold. "I'm sorry," Logan whispers, "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Adam, dressed, but his hands still shaking, kneels jerkily beside her. "Blink once for yes and twice for no. Do you know what you are?"

Blink.

"Do you know where you are?"

Blink. Blink.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Blink.

"Do you want us to try to cure you? To take the metal out so that you can live?"

Blink.

"God," Logan says. "Scott, tell me we have morphine."

"I'll stay with you," Adam says, his voice hoarse.

Scott takes his phone out of his pocket. He has to call the school. He has to evacuate this woman, this man, take them to a hospital. He has to leave and abandon any chance of finding Jean's body.

"I can fix you," Adam says to Yuriko. Her eyes lock with his.

Blink.

"Scott." Logan looks at him. He knows what Scott is thinking. They've spent weeks on the water. They barely need to speak any more. Logan knows that Scott is torn, and that he's torn about being torn. And what Scott gets is that Logan understands, and that it's okay.

Scott pulls out the phone and calls the Professor.

*

They take the boat, they take down the tents, they take the water and the pots and the food, they take the dog tags and the people that they found, the plane arrives, and they go home. Storm flies. Scott sleeps in the back. He dreams of Jean.


	3. Macrosurgery.

Storm picks them up in the plane, Kurt beside her. He has a little crush on her that Storm is in the process of noticing.

Logan can barely take his eyes off Adam and Yuriko. They're both filled with answers and he doesn't know where to begin. He sits next to Scott, who's sacked out in his seat.

Yuriko is beautiful even filled with metal. Her eyes flicker up, down, around, as Adam lies beside her on the floor and strokes her forehead constantly. "A dream," he's murmuring, "in blue, and green, and white, and black, a dream where you float, bodiless, like a bird, bobbing in the wind, blue and violet, violet and indigo, a deep blue, and you float there. The cloth yards where the long bolts tumble through the air, in the wind, green in the wind..." Logan is half hypnotized just listening to him. The waspy buzz in his sinuses is gone, or at least forgotten. The guy is good.

Her eyes close and Adam switches to a soft "shh, shh" like the ocean. He keeps that up for a good long time. "I think she's asleep," Adam says finally. He shifts onto his belly and props himself up on his elbows. "I was a doctor a long time ago, before penicillin... if you can't cure a person, at least you can make them feel better."

"You went to medical school with powers like ours and they didn't notice?"

"Different time. If they saw a mutant, they would think it was a demon."

Kurt swivels around in his seat, one blue toe on the floor pushing him along, the other folded up on the seat, his tail curled beside him. "I have been called a demon," he says shyly.

"People are afraid of the unknown," Adam says.

"Some. Some are not. I have seen you before. You put a gun in my face," Kurt says.

Adam looks up at him. "I did?"

"It was mind control," Logan says, reminding them.

"Yes. And then you exploded. I was sorry for you. It was terrible, but we had to rescue the children, and so we let Magneto explode you with your own weapons." Kurt crosses himself. "But you're better now?"

"It's my mutant power," Adam says. "I'm sorry that I shot at you."

"I forgive you. I was controlled as well. They made me attack the President! But they made you attack children, and that is a terrible thing," Kurt says sadly. "I am very sorry for you. How long did they have you?"

"Six years," Adam says, and Storm looks back as well as he says it, her mouth open with shock. Adam bends his head down by Yuriko.

"Do you want to call your boyfriend yet?" Logan asks.

"No. One thing at a time."

*

The plane lands in the early evening. The school is so goddamn beautiful he can't believe they let him inside. Mansion, woods, lake, pool, stable, it's a rich man's house with a surprise inside.

Scott is still asleep, slumped between Logan and the side of the plane. Logan keeps checking his visor, where it's resting against the metal, but it's on tight. The Professor and Hank--Hank McCoy is a big shot genetics researcher who came down to take over doctor duties after Jean didn't come back--are waiting in the door with a large moving table. It's not quite a gurney. Sturdier than that. "Welcome," Logan hears in his head, the Professor's mental voice.

Adam jerks. "Telepath?"

"Is that a problem?" Storm says sharply.

"No, just--unexpected." Adam zips up the hoodie to his chin. His face shows nothing, but his smell is tense and animal.

"Welcome," the Professor says from the ground.

Hank runs the table up the ramp. "Oh, heavens. The poor girl. What happened?"

"I happened," Logan says, feeling the sharp stab of guilt in his guts all over again. "Come on, move! The man says he can fix her." He and Hank and Kurt and Adam and Storm all together--Scott is still asleep, which is weird--can just barely shift her onto the table. Her eyelids flicker and her lips move, not quite enough to mouth words. They cover her stinking clothes with blankets. Carefully, very carefully, they roll Yuriko out of the plane.

Adam stops short at the base of the ramp and looks at the Professor. "You're more than you seem," the Professor says.

"I am." Logan can smell Adam break out in sweat, the acrid taste of fear under his clothes. "I'm a great many things," he says. Logan smells ozone. The quickening, Adam said. The electricity inside them.

Hank and Kurt push Yuriko's gurney inside. The Professor tilts his head. Logan waits, but there's no trace of fear, no signal to strike. "Please, come inside," the Professor says.

*

They knock Yuriko out with morphine immediately. Adam pops his knives experimentally. Logan remembers that stage, examining his new mutilation, figuring out what he can do.

"I don't know what you think I can do," Hank says. "I can't imagine how she's still alive. A series of microsurgeries over the course of..." He shakes his head. "Months? And that's far beyond my skill set. Gentlemen, I simply don't know."

"I know what to do," Adam says. He runs his claws in and out one at a time with a twitch of his fingers. "Not microsurgery. Macrosurgery. She will heal anything short of decapitation. So what we need to do is stop just short of decapitation."

Hank stares at him.

"I was a doctor once. I'll do it. You keep the morphine coming," Adam says.

And he does it. Logan stands in the observation room with the Professor, masked and covered in Vick's Vaporub against the sickening, overpowering smell of blood, and watches Adam eviscerate her with his claws. He opens her up with a knife from collarbone to abdomen and feels through her guts with his fingers, cutting away and discarding anything filled with metal. Stomach. A tight coil of intestine. Lungs. Heart. Blood oozes across the table, but Logan can't turn away.

He'd jammed the adamantium needle into her stomach. It filled first her digestive tract, then the space inside her abdomen, then her lungs. It flowed up her throat into her sinuses, mouth, out her tear ducts. Logan flinches and looks away when Adam plucks out her eyes and scoops the soft tissue out of her sockets. When he looks back, Adam is moving a magnet around her eye sockets and her eyeballs are lying on her cheeks.

"This is not your doing. You did not make her into the enemy," the Professor says.

Logan shakes his head. "I didn't make her the enemy, but I did this to her."

Hank scrapes along her ribs. Her chest is open and empty. Logan can see the metal encasing her ribs and wonders if his body looks like that as well. "This thread is attached to the metal of her spine. I can't remove it without taking out the bone," Hank says. "Will her bones regenerate?"

"Not very well. Our magic regenerates everything we need for life and leaves the rest. It can take several years to heal a missing limb. And if we're cut on the throat, that can take decades. Necks are the weak spot. We'll just clean out the metal, put back the meat, and her Quickening will take care of the rest."

"Marvelous," Hank says.

"In theory, if you could remove the brain and spinal column from our bodies without damaging them, the body would decay and we would regrow from the brain. I don't know how long it would take. I don't want to do it. But it's an interesting thought," Adam says.

He places her eyes back in her head. His hand lingers on her forehead for a moment, brushing her bloodied hair back.

"We must leave the stray threads, then. There aren't many--well, I haven't seen her sinuses yet. But I think the poor woman will want a speedy recovery."

"Agreed," Adam says.

*

It takes all night, but when day breaks Yuriko is whole and Logan watched the whole damn thing. Her skin knit together almost immediately. She looks like she's sleeping, despite the pile of bloody metal in the tray.

"That was... the most horrendous experience of my life," Hank says. He pours himself a large glass of scotch and perches in a leather chair. "Sir, I commend you. I would never have done it."

The Professor pours another glass for Adam and hands it over. "Thank you," Adam says. "It's not much compared to amputations without anesthesia. I got very good at those during the Civil War. Scarcely anyone died." But his breathing is harsh and he can't quite relax in his chair.

"I simply would not have done it. But it worked. That young woman will heal. Extraordinary!" Hank downs a big swig of scotch.

"I think you have a phone call to make," the Professor says to Adam. Of course. Adam's boyfriend.

Logan chews on a cigar. He won't light it in front of the Professor, but he wants something to do. "So what's your man like?" he asks.

"He's another one like us," Adam says. "But bolder than I am. Younger."

"Invite him down," the Professor says, and Logan wonders what he sees inside Adam's mind.

Adam laughs. "You don't know what you're saying, Dr. Xavier."

"Oh, I think I do."

"He'll never leave."

"Excellent." The Professor smiles.

*

Logan knocks on Scott's door while Adam makes his call.

No answer. Logan opens the door anyway. It's just Scott's room now, that's obvious. Someone cleaned out Jean's stuff. It's probably in a box somewhere--his brain throws up an image of a coffin holding shoes and stethoscopes. Thanks, brain.

Scott is sprawled across the four-poster bed, sleeping in his clothes. Everyone else has been up for twenty-four hours from adrenaline, but Scott, the boss man, slept through it all. This isn't good. "Hey," Logan says.

Scott doesn't answer. "Hey," Logan says again, louder. When Scott still doesn't answer, Logan pulls a quilt over him and leaves.

Hank and Adam and the Professor are still in the Professor's office. "But do you still feel pain?" Hank asks.

"Absolutely," Adam replies.

"Do you age?"

"To a point." Adam glances at the Professor. "Until the first death."

"First death!" Hank exclaims. He takes out a notebook and pen and starts scribbling.

"I haven't ever died," Logan says. That's crazy. He's been down, knocked out, gone under for a little while, but never dead. Come on. You didn't come back from dead.

"Yes. You have. At least once, or you wouldn't be one of us yet," Adam says.

"No."

Adam makes a rude noise in the back of his throat. "Believe me or don't believe me, I don't care. Duncan is in New York. He'll be here in two hours." He sinks into his chair and sips his scotch. He closes his eyes.

"Duncan?"

"MacLeod. My... boy toy," Adam says with a sneer that's almost a smile. "Except he's richer than I am, so I suppose I'm his."

"Four of you," the Professor comments.

He wasn't even remotely alone. Four people like him in one house and more in the world. "This isn't necessarily a good thing," Adam says. "For any of us. Many of us have a belief, like a religion, that there can be only one."

"Only one what?" Doesn't compute.

"Only one Immortal in the entire world. The last one standing contains the strength of all of us and earns the Prize."

"One Immortal, or one mutant?" the Professor asks.

Adam shrugs. "I don't know. But you don't have a quickening, Dr. Xavier, or Scott, or any of the others apart from Logan and Yuriko. I can't feel your presence, so you should be safe from others of us."

"I sincerely hope you don't share in this belief."

"No," Adam says. "The people who do are trying to justify their appetites."

"Excuse me--do I understand this correctly? Mutants like you kill each other for the power inside your bodies?" Hank asks.

Adam nods.

"Great," Logan says. "Perfect. I find out who I am and I'm a member of the Manson Family." He jumps up, paces, stares at the back of Adam's head. Adam doesn't twitch, even though he knows Logan is standing behind him with big old decapitating claws. Logan wishes, desperately, that he could remember this shit. His entire life is fifteen years of running across Canada in a truck. Before then? Maybe he was running around cutting people's heads off too. Maybe he was a freaking monk. Maybe he lived alone on top of a mountain. Maybe he was a serial killer.

Logan stalks back around the Professor's desk and folds his arms, staring Adam down. "I'm opting out," Logan says.

"Sorry," Adam says dully. "Tried that, never works." He cuts his eyes at Logan. "I'll teach you how to defend yourself."

"You've gotta be kidding me, librarian."

Adam smiles. "You would be surprised."

"We need to stop this," Hank says. "We can't have mutants killing each other. I need to talk to the President." Hank is the Secretary of Mutant Affairs, the big whoozit in the American government. Logan's Canadian--he doesn't know much about himself, but he knows that--and he cares only in the most academic way.

"You can't stop this," Adam says.

"We have to at least try!"

"It's been going on for at least four thousand years. Immortal culture isn't like human culture. And none of us is going to listen to you." There's no heat in his words. It's a statement of fact. "I'll teach you to fight," he repeats to Logan, and settles back in the chair.

"But it is a cultural belief, not an innate urge?" the Professor asks.

Adam shrugs. He looks at Logan. "You lost your culture. How do you feel?"

Logan looks back, not knowing what to say.

"Feel like killing me?"

"No."

"Maybe there's hope, then," Adam says. His voice is flat.

"There must be hope, Adam. Without hope, life has no meaning."

"Life is its own meaning," Adam replies.

Hank raises a finger. "Life without striving for a higher purpose is life without morality."

"Immortal culture states that beheading people for their power is a higher purpose. I don't put much stock in ideals."

"You don't find that there's an absolute morality common across all human cultures?" the Professor asks.

"Not for a second."

"Not even murder?"

"Honor killings, the death penalty, the guillotine, the Inquisition, the Crusades? Have you ever read the Bible, sir?"

That's enough armchair philosophy for Logan. He goes to find his favorite girl.

*

Charles glances at Hank, who excuses himself.

Adam is making himself small in his chair. Vulnerability would be written across his body even if Charles weren't telepathic.

"The shoe isn't going to drop, Adam," Charles says.

"I know you read my mind. How much did you see?"

"I saw you were once a very different sort of man. I saw you kill for the love of killing and I saw you killing to protect your love. I will have no violence in my house," Charles says. "But I can..."

"Forgive?"

"Take you at your word, if you take me at mine. I will not allow harm to come to anyone under my protection." He extends his hand. "And I believe that people can change for the better."

Adam shakes his hand. Wary. Guarded. Just like everyone else.


	4. Reunion.

It's Sunday morning. The kids are playing kickball in the back garden. Bobby rolls the ball and Marie boots it hard, running for first base, which doesn't have a baseman. Then Logan spots speedy Sam grabbing the ball, and it makes sense. Sam nabs it, throws it, and runs to catch it at the first base just as Marie reaches the white chalk circle. "Safe!" Pete yells.

"No way!" Sam protests.

"Way," Pete says. He puts his hands on his hips. Sam barely comes up to his rib cage.

Sam throws the ball back to Bobby, muttering. He zips back to the outfield. "We let you play with powers. Be a good sport," Peter says.

"Hey. Deal me in," Logan says, moving out of the mansion door.

"Logan!" Marie waves and steps forward--out of the base circle. Sam zips in, grabs the ball from Bobby, and tags her out. "Hey!" she yells.

"You're out!" Peter points at the ground. Marie marches up to the door and punches Logan in the shoulder.

"Ow."

"Are you back now?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"For good?"

"Who can say? I want to play kickball."

"You better score a base. You made me lose," Marie says.

Logan steps up. Bobby rolls him the ball and Logan boots it into the far right field. He can see the flicker of Sam's movement and decides on a hard slide into the base. "Safe!" Pete yells, and Logan raises his arms in triumph.

Rictor is up next. He won't say his real name, just Rictor, and that he's from Mexico originally. He's a serious little kid. He kicks the ball straight at Bobby, looks like by accident; he hesitates as Bobby flings himself out of the way, then runs, not fast enough. Sam has the ball and Rictor isn't going to make it.

Logan stops trying for second and flings himself into the base line, making Sam stutter to a stop. Rictor touches first and keeps going. He steals second as Sam tags Logan out.

Marie and Kitty, on the sidelines, jump up and down and cheer. Rictor grins.

The adrenaline wears off before long and Logan takes a nap on a bench beside the lily pond. He wakes up with Rictor sitting at his feet and Marie braiding dandelions into his hair. "You sassing me?" he asks her.

"Yeah," she says. Peter hands her another bunch of dandelions and grins down at him.

A car rolls up the front drive. Rictor's grin disappears. "Expecting someone?" Peter asks.

"Yeah. It's okay," Logan says, but Rictor sidles into the bushes anyway. He's jumpy at the best of times. This is not the best of times. "We found someone in the lake, a mutant. You saw us come in last night. This is his friend coming to see him."

All three walk up to the main hallway. Adam is there already, his head bowed. Logan runs his fingers through his hair, knocking out the flowers. Other kids peer down the main stairs.

That headachey, waspy, echoing feeling comes back. "Is that him?" Logan asks.

Adam nods. He crosses his arms over his chest, then shifts them the other way, then clutches a shoulder with one hand. Logan sneezes. "What, is he a cat mutant?" Marie asks.

Logan rubs his nose. "What?" He pinches his nostrils shut and the feeling fades.

"Makes you sneeze," Marie says.

"No, he's a mastiff if anything. Loyal. Brave. Old-fashioned," Adam says. He looks at the ground, hands tucked under his arms. The kids are still clustered together, bracing themselves.

Xavier rolls out of his office with Hank at his side. He glances at Logan and the rest, then answers the door just as the bell rings. "Mister MacLeod, I presume? I'm Charles Xavier."

"Thank you." The man steps inside. He's big, tan, black-haired, and handsome. "Adam," he says. A huge smile breaks across his face. Peter edges a little closer, looking over Logan's shoulder.

"Duncan. Long time no see, or so I understand." Adam raises his head.

Duncan walks toward him slowly. "I've been looking for you for six years. Every day."

"I left the store, I locked up."

"I made salmon. New recipe," Duncan says.

"I put the keys in my pocket and felt a gun in my back."

"You never showed. I still haven't tried the recipe." Duncan reaches him and cups his hand around the back of Adam's head.

Adam pulls back, averting his eyes. "I woke up drowning in a lake--" He breaks off as Duncan pulls him in and kisses him.

"Oh! That's so romantic," Marie sighs. She clutches Logan's arm with her gloved hands. The little kids giggle behind him.

Too many wide little eyes. "Hey. Hey! This isn't a movie. Move it, you bums," Logan says, shooing the kids upstairs. The others go easily, but Peter lingers. "You too, tin man," Logan says, planting his hand in Peter's back. He can't budge the big metal boy unless he wants to be budged, but a firm glare works wonders.

Peter has a big goofy grin. "I want to be in love like that one day," he says.

"You will once you're old enough to shave. Now shoo."

*

Apparently guests mean a big family dinner. All the leaves are in the long dinner table. Logan squeezes in between Kurt to his left--ducking his tail--and Peter. The Professor is at the head of the table, the guests to either side, Ororo and Hank beside them. Scott's notably absent. To Logan's right, after Peter, are senior students Marie, Bobby, Kitty, and Jubilee. Peter is the youngest there, even though he doesn't look it.

"I for one am fascinated. An area of consistent mutation, producing the same powers. I have so many questions! Would you object to a few simple tests while you're here?" Hank asks, gesturing with a green bean. Logan wonders exactly how many tests Hank's performed on him while he was down for the count.

"Ah. Well, ah." Duncan looks to Adam. "We're not mutants, though."

Adam shakes his head. "You're wrong."

"You don't consider yourself a mutant?" Xavier asks.

"I do," Adam says.

"But--" Duncan looks from Adam to Xavier. "We've been around longer than mutants have."

"Wrong," Adam says.

"It's only been--well, how old are you, sir?"

"Seventy," Xavier says with a gracious tilt of the head.

"Seventy years, then. There were no mutants last century."

"Wrong."

Duncan throws his hands in the air. "You can't just make a naked assertion and expect to win an argument, Adam!"

"Fine. Look at the facts. We're not a separate species," Adam says, pointing his fork in Duncan's face.

"No, but we don't have the X gene. That's a fact, I've been tested."

"Well, there isn't just one gene," Hank cuts in. "There is a primary gene dubbed the X gene, but there are also several genes previously believed to be inert that many of us theorize to have an additive, or possibly even substitutive, effect on the X gene. It's extremely interesting."

"And we have to come from somewhere. We're humans. With something special. By definition, mutants," Adam says.

"But our kind has been here for thousands upon thousands of years, and the mutant phenomenon is recent," Duncan says.

"Wrong. What do you think satyrs are?"

"Mythical?"

"And mermaids," Adam says. Kurt giggles softly beside Logan.

"Now you're just being silly."

"Goliath," Adam says.

"We must be careful not to confuse ordinary human variation with mutation," Xavier says.

"I'm really not. Medusa," Adam says.

"Evidence, Adam! Those are myths!"

"Cassandra."

Duncan frowns hard enough that Adam shrinks back. Huh. That's interesting.

"The Greek seer doomed to speak the truth without being believed?" Hank inquires.

"No. An Immortal that we both know who can control minds with her voice." Duncan glares at Adam. "Don't you bring her into this."

Adam stuffs his mouth full of potatoes.

Ororo, looking thoughtful, asks, "Is it possible that this one standard form of human variation has undergone alteration over this past century?"

Duncan gestures to everyone at the table. "There's never been so many of us."

"The ratio of mutant to non-mutant births has increased steadily since the phenomenon was first studied in the sixties," Hank says.

"We have extensive histories of Immortals and there have always been people who have different abilities," Adam argues.

"But that's not an argument for Immortals ourselves being mutants _in the same way_. There are Immortals and there are mutant Immortals just as there are humans and there are mutant humans."

"Excuse me," Kurt says diffidently. His tail twitches, hitting Logan in the butt. "If you are not a human, what are you?"

Everyone looks at Duncan. "That isn't what I meant," Duncan says. "Of course we're human as well. But we have something extra, an energy inside us that we can steal from each other. And that's something that you don't have. I could feel it if you did."

"You can take life energy out of other people?" Marie asks. "That's what I do."

"And there are documented cases in the literature of mutants that can sense other mutants," Hank contributes.

"You're so very, very wrong, MacLeod," Adam says. He sounds smug. Logan still hasn't seen what quality made Duncan search six solid years for him; there must be something, but he's no Helen of Troy.

Duncan throws up his hands. "Fine! Don't rub it in."

"So perhaps," Ororo says, "this preexisting very rare mutation is becoming less rare and more fragmented. Bits and pieces of the potential that already exists. I would very much like to read your histories."

"As would I," Xavier says.

"You should call Joe anyway," Duncan says.

"Joe!" Adam drops his fork. His face goes very white. "I forgot him." He's shaking. The smell of panic rolls off him.

Duncan reaches across the table and presses Adam's hand to the cloth. "It's all right," he says.

"No, you don't understand. I forgot him. I forgot Joe. MacLeod, it is not all right. I forgot my oldest friend, and if I can forget him, I can forget anything, and if I start forgetting people, then I don't know who I AM!" It's a shout by the end. "Nothing about this is all right!"

His bellow rings around the room.

"See, this is why I get cranky," Logan mutters. Boy, does he get that. Beside him, Kurt hides his mouth behind his three-fingered hand. He pats Logan on the back with his tail.

The light turns yellow. Logan looks up. Butterflies flap around the room, red and orange, flitting through the light fixtures. They turn into bright red and yellow songbirds mid-flight.

"Oh, look," Bobby says. "Artie, nice!"

"Artie, that is so good!" Marie cries. "That is so pretty!" By the door, Artie is beaming.

"Very well done, Artie." Xavier smiles warmly at the little boy. "Now back to your homework."

Adam stands up. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I need to be by myself for a little bit." He walks out with one hand pressed to his forehead.

*

Duncan, Amanda, Kronos, Alexa, Jillian, Vincent... after that it gets fuzzy and he can't recall if he slept with Bess before or after Violette. Jillian was a long time before Alexa, and Vincent was a long time before Jillian. He wonders if there's anyone he should add to the list after Duncan. Vincent, Bess, Violette, that's right, because he swore off French women after Violette, found Bess, and then decided a French man wasn't going to break his personal rule.

Methos is making lists of things he should remember.

He's spreadeagled on the lawn, looking up at the night sky. There's Venus, Mars, Jupiter. He can't see Saturn but he knows where it should be. Orion, the Hunter, called the Saucepan or the Canoe in Australia, Kalpurush the Destroyer in India, the scythe of Vainamoinen in Finland, Osiris, the Nephila. In his earliest memories--and at this point he's not quite sure if he really remembers this, or if he's read it in a book--the light of heaven, Uru-Anna. The star man is older than any civilization, though. The star man is even older than him.

Byron, Rubio, Ginevra, Irisi, Silas, Milo, and now perhaps Logan. His students are a short list. Byron was two hundred years ago, and that ended disastrously. Rubio was six hundred years before him, and also ended disastrously. In fact, the only student of his that ever thrived was Irisi, unless you count Silas, and Methos doesn't count Silas.

The door of the school opens. Someone crosses the yard. Methos doesn't look, but it's a walk, so it's not Xavier, and it's light, so it's not Duncan or Logan. A small child stands beside him. "Hello," Methos says.

Letters pop into the air beside the boy, one at a time. H E L L O.

"Are you Artie?" Methos asks.

The boy nods. He looks at Methos seriously. An image forms beside him. A soldier, in green camouflage, his face painted, a gun in his hand. The image moves, raising the gun, and then freezes. The paint slowly erases from the soldier's face, revealing Methos's face beneath, and then iridescent question marks float around the image.

"I don't know," Methos says. "They tell me I attacked the school but I can't remember anything. I'm sorry if I did."

Artie sits down beside him and frowns at him.

"You can't speak, I take it?"

Artie sticks out his tongue. It's indigo blue, very long, and forked. He looks up at the sky and starts building an image again. This one starts with a man with Methos's face dressed in camouflage, a still image, and then the image turns and walks in silhouette. A number of children join the image, including Artie. Then a gray-haired man meets the group. Methos flinches when he sees the man but doesn't know why; there's just something wrong about him. The gray-haired man reaches out--his arms stretch far too long, giving Methos the willies--and pokes his finger into Methos's head. Then Methos pulls a gun on the children.

The image fades. Methos looks at the boy. Between them, the image of an eye forms. The iris is clear icy gray, ringed in black. The eye widens and then the color changes to muddy brown-green, the same color Methos sees when he looks in the mirror. Then the image changes to Artie himself being carried by Logan. The image walks right over Methos, and Methos follows it, turning his head, and sees the gray-haired man chained to a cement wall. The man yells soundlessly. He bares pointed, wolfish teeth, and stares directly at Methos with venom all over his face. Then water crashes over the image, wiping it all away into the night sky.

"That's a bad story," Methos says. "Want to hear a better one?"

Artie nods. He rolls onto his back beside Methos, looking up at the sky. "You know Orion, the hunter, don't you?" Methos asks. Artie nods as if Methos is stupid for asking. "When I was a boy your age, we called him Uru-Anna, the light of heaven. See his dogs all around him."

Artie nods. "They hunt the antelope of Ishtar, which holds love between its horns. When meteors fall, they're not rocks from space; they're the hunter's arrows." Mostly lying, partly remembering. Telling the boy a fantastic story.

*

Methos returns inside with Artie mostly asleep on his shoulder. It's been a long time since he dealt with a child but it comes back fast. "Hey, I was looking for him," Peter--an exceptionally tall boy who introduced himself as Colossus--lifts Artie from Methos's arms. "Come on, drooly, time for bed."

Artie's forked tongue peeks out of his mouth in sleep. Peter carries him upstairs. The little boy seems content.

Xavier and Duncan sit in Xavier's office with the door open, clearly an invitation. Methos joins them, saying, "I think I'm done with my nervous breakdown."

"You sure?" Duncan asks.

"Shush, junior." Methos takes his hand. "You've lost your mind twice since I've known you." He leans in and kisses Duncan.

"It's only nine. Still enough time to call Joe," Duncan says. Methos leans his forehead against Duncan's shoulder, but accepts the phone.

*

"Adam! Jesus Christ! Where have you been? We've been looking for you for six years! ALL OF US!"

The bar is noisy in the background, but Joe shouts over it. From Methos's perspective, he last spoke to Joe four days ago. "Sorry, Joe," he says. "I can't remember yet. They fished me out of a lake a couple of days ago."

"Who's they? Where are you?"

"I can't tell you over the phone. But I'm safe. I'll come see you soon."

"Yeah, I guess. Hey Amanda's here! She wants to give you a piece of her mind."

Methos waits.

"METHOS!" He winces. She never would use his cover name. "I will never forgive you as long as you live! Duncan was moping around like he just found out there's no Santa Claus!"

"I love you too, Amanda," he says.

"What happened? Where did you go?"

"I can't remember."

"Oh, well it's good to hear your voice. Is it all over? Are you safe?"

"I'm safe." Not that he feels safe, but there's no sword to his throat, at least.

"Give MacLeod a kiss for me."

"Already done, but I'll do it again. Give me back to Joe."

His brain feels itchy. He feels naked without his sword, even with the knives under his skin. The combined presence of Duncan, Logan, and the woman in the basement is like a constantly screaming car alarm.

"Adam. I'm just glad you're still alive," Joe says.

"Believe me, me too. We'll talk soon. We have a lot to talk about."


	5. Examination.

Xavier's guest room is comfortable and masculine, dark wood and a large closet and a queen-sized bed. There's a standing mirror in the corner. Methos turns on all the lights, drops his clothes, and looks at himself for the first time in six years.

His hair is dull as usual, clean and short. He runs his fingers over the familiar scar between his ribs that was probably his death wound. His nails are ragged and need to be trimmed. On his face, he can feel the ghost of his long-gone tattoo, the ink shed out over centuries but the minuscule divots of the tattoo needle stuck in the blueprints of his skin forever. His feet, strong and tough from growing up barefoot half the year. He's in good shape; his metabolism is feast-and-famine slow and he puts on fat easily if he doesn't stay active, so clearly he's been busy.

He's the same. No new marks. There should be marks, but there aren't.

Duncan cups his shoulders and kisses his cheek. "What's this?" He touches the disk at the back of Methos's neck.

Methos flinches away. "Mind control."

"You're kidding."

"There's more." Methos raises his left hand mutely, flexes, and pops out the knives from his skin. Duncan inhales sharply. "Logan too, though his aren't shaped the same. And the woman in the basement. She's still unconscious."

"They're experimenting on Immortals? Tell me," Duncan snarls. He holds Methos close.

"Already done. No revenge to take, Highlander. Nothing left. The building is smashed and a lake sits in its place and all the men are dead."

Duncan holds him, glaring into the mirror. Methos feels his heart pound up against Duncan's touch. "And they pulled you out of the lake," Duncan says.

Methos nods, and leans back into his touch. Duncan embraces him and kisses his shoulder. "Did they mark my body anywhere else?"

"I'll check." Duncan kisses his arm. He kneels gracefully, stroking his hands down Methos's back, cupping his arse, kissing his thigh. Methos looks in the mirror.

Duncan's hands are brown against his milk-pale skin. Duncan pets his thighs like they're made of velvet cloth instead of aged skin and rough hair. Always so sensual, wanting the best food and wine and clothing, needing constant touch and comfort where Methos was content to go without. Methos could be, had been a hermit, solitary for years on end. Duncan could never.

"Did Amanda keep you company while I was gone?" Methos asks.

"Yes."

"I'm glad." Methos takes his hand and kisses the palm. They kneel together. Duncan is still dressed, and Methos runs his hands under his shirt. Silk. "You're miserable alone," Methos says. He takes Duncan's face between his hands.

They kiss. Duncan pulls him upright enough to get to the bed. He stretches Methos out on the clean cotton sheets and kisses his chin, his chest, his belly, down to his inner thigh, up to the base of his penis. "Up here," Methos says. That's not what he wants yet.

Duncan covers him with his body. Methos runs his fingers through his hair and strips the shirt from his body. "I love you," Methos whispers.

"I missed you so much." Duncan props himself up on his elbows and looks at him for a long moment. "Every day. Every one. Even when I hate you I love you," Duncan says, and this is pure honesty born of a short and difficult history together.

"You were gone," Duncan says. "Just disappeared. I thought I would know if you were dead, that there would be a blackout or an explosion. I thought if you left me, you'd tell me, somehow. I thought if this was a game, I could figure out how to play. But--" He shakes his head, his eyes filling with tears.

Methos guides Duncan's mouth to his throat. The first day he met Duncan, he bared his throat in surrender, only 90% sure that Duncan wouldn't kill him. He's always let Duncan see his tenderest sides. "I'm here," Methos says.

They twine together, Methos's legs between Duncan's, Methos's head tipped back, his back arched, pushing up against Duncan's body. Duncan sucks kisses into his neck and strokes every inch of Methos's body.

When Methos is close enough that he has to cry out from the sheer joy of it, he rolls Duncan onto his side. The lights are bright and Duncan shines, tan skin damp with sweat, eyes wide and black and glittering. Methos kisses him because he's beautiful. Their mouths move together, their arms are wrapped around each other, and Duncan slips his huge, muscled thigh between Methos's legs.

And Methos comes that way, engulfed in Duncan, together with Duncan, breathing hard through his nose. "Methos," Duncan says.

"I'm here."

Duncan kisses the side of his mouth. "I love you," he says.

It's Methos who slips out of bed to turn off the lights. He looks at himself in the mirror again before he flips the switch. Same man, from the outside. Unmarked.

"I love you," Duncan says in his sleep.

*

Charles closes his eyes and listens to the house. Intimate contentment from his new guests, drugged silence from the basement. Troubled, incoherent dreams in Logan's room. Scattered nightmares among the children that he cannot soothe. Empty, echoing loss in Scott's.

"Are you sure?" Storm asks.

She has every right to question him. She's Charles's closest advisor since Jean's death. "We're a school. We cannot be isolationist," Charles replies.

"But now?"

"Now is when the opportunity presents itself."

"Strangers in the house, though. It makes me uneasy."

"Ororo. We have to do it some time."

Storm brushes her hair back from her face uneasily. "We came so, so close to disaster."

"All the more reason to search for new friends."

She smiles slightly. "Optimist."

"Eric was always the pessimist. I prefer my way."

"All right. But please, for the children, _watch them._ "

*

He dreams of a tent, buried in snow. In the dream he's lying down, resting but not asleep. There's a man in the tent, but he can't make out a face. They're close, breathing together. They're brothers...

A blood-curdling shriek cuts through the mansion. Logan pops his claws automatically and falls out of bed, looking for the fight.

No fight, just screams of bloody murder. There's fury, not fear, in the tone. It could be a battle cry. A door across the hall slams open. "Oh my god, oh my god, they're back!" sobs Dani. Her nails scrabble against the hidden escape route in the wood paneling.

"No, no, it's downstairs--it's the new lady," Marie says. Good sensible girl. "It's okay! Come on, let's hang out with Peter."

Logan shakes himself off and opens the door, edges past the girls, and hits the stairs. Doors are opening all over the house. He can feel that waspy buzzing in his sinuses again.

"Meet you downstairs," the Professor says in his head.

"Quit that," Logan says out loud. He half means it.

Ororo joins him on the stairs. Scott doesn't. The two Immortals come out of their room and look over the railing. "I've got it," Logan says.

"I speak Japanese," Duncan says, starting down the stairs.

"She speaks English, you idiot," Adam says, following him anyway.

Logan points. "I've got it! Stay up here."

Adam ignores him. "I'm her doctor," he says.

"I'm with him," Duncan says, one hand on Adam's shoulder.

The screams die down before they reach the elevator. All the kids are awake, some of them crying, and Logan hears the Professor's voice up at the top of the house, reassuring them. He still doesn't hear Scott's voice.

Down the elevator, down the hall, Ororo outpacing them all, into the medical room where Yuriko is thrashing, prone. Hank is there already, but he's across the room, behind a gurney, probably trying to look harmless. The teeth and claws sometimes aren't so reassuring in a doctor.

Yuriko stares at Logan with her eyes as huge and black as the night sky. "What are you doing? Are you here for my head? I'm unarmed, it's against the rules!" She has a flat California accent.

"No! Nobody's cutting off anyone's head!" Logan glares at the other two Immortals. "You guys are freaking nuts, you know that?"

Adam rolls his eyes. "I don't play the game."

"I don't attack injured women," Duncan says.

"No-one will attack you," Ororo says.

Yuriko takes a deep breath, then another. "You pulled me out of the lake," she says, not looking at any of them. "I remember. I was frozen, under the water. I thought I was in hell. I remember... you, and you," she says, turning from Logan to Adam. "What year is it?"

"2007," Ororo says.

Yuriko covers her face. "It wasn't a dream."

"We had the same nightmare," Adam says. "How long for you?"

"It was 2004. The last time I was myself, it was 2004." She looks down at her body.

"Yuriko." Ororo rests her hand on her knee, but the woman doesn't respond. "We'll help as much as we can. You're safe here."

The woman slaps the side of the bed. "Don't touch me."

Ororo swiftly withdraws. Logan shifts his weight, ready.

The woman braces her hands against the bed. The muscles in her neck strain. Damn, she's trying to sit up, and she can't, Logan realizes. "My name is not Yuriko. Why would you call me that!" She collapses back onto the bed, baring her teeth. She raises her hands and slides the long claws from under her adamantium fingernails.

They're longer than Logan remembers. Maybe eighteen inches, and they're flexible, shivering like wind chimes as she pants. She glares at them all. "I was a soldier in the Golden Horde," she says. "I conquered Europe. If you think you have me, you're wrong."

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." It means nothing to Logan, but it seems to mean something to the woman. She seems a little confused, maybe, instead of fight-ready. Duncan crosses the room with confidence and ease right into reach of her claws. "I think we've met before," Duncan says.

"The hunter. The honorable man," she says.

"You can't move because I had to cut out most of your midsection to remove the metal," Adam says. "Do you remember the metal?"

She does. She sighs and the claws slide back into her fingers.

"Sometimes the hand of friendship is hard to grasp," Duncan says.

"It's been a long time," the woman says. "But--I remember you. My name is Narantuyaa."


	6. Dawn.

The house is blissfully silent again. The cicadas shiver in the trees.

Charles strokes Monet's braids. She's the youngest in the school and has taken advantage of that position to curl up in his lap. Sam and Arthur sit to either side of his feet, leaning on his knees. Siryn sits on the back of the couch, and Kitty hovers in the doorway, holding hands with Danielle. "Back to bed," Charles says.

"But it's early," Sam protests. Arthur projects an image of the rising sun that turns into an egg.

"I see."

"We can get breakfast started," Kitty offers.

"I make really good bacon!" Siryn says.

He can hear the lingering fear behind their voices. "Perhaps we've been remiss in not offering a home economics class," Charles says.

Arthur projects toast along the hall to the kitchen. Sam hops up. "Come on, Artie! Push!" They propel Charles slowly down the hall.

"French toast!" Phoebe says. "Strawberries!"

"Pancakes," Kitty says.

*

Methos restarts his journal on a spiral-bound student's notebook. "Rest," Duncan says, pressing his face to Methos's side.

"Can't." He's starting to remember. His mind is so full it hurts.

"I never understood journaling," Duncan mutters. "Isn't it enough to be there?"

"Go to sleep."

Duncan does. He snores lightly against Methos's ribs as Methos fills the notebook with everything he can remember. The drug has worn off. He works backwards from the grenade exploding in his chest to the invasion of the school to the interrogation of Magneto and on and on. Backward past the conversion of Narantuyaa into Stryker's pet. Past the secret mutant experiments. He writes down the names, what dates he can remember, what happened. Past his own conversion. Needles. Burning. Stumbling out of the cell the next day saying, "I'm a SHOPKEEPER!" Not that it mattered. Past his captivity, in the chains and in the dark. Back to his kidnapping off the streets of Chicago.

It's bright morning by the time he's done. He shakes Duncan awake. "They had a sniffer. That's how they got Narantuyaa and how they got me. And that's why I journal, it helps me think."

Duncan sleepily rubs his eyes.

"We need Joe."

*

He and Duncan find Professor Xavier in his study. "Good morning. You seem agitated," Xavier says.

"They have an Immortal collaborator," Methos says.

Xavier frowns. "It's certainly not unheard of."

"I know how to find them. Our friend Joe is a Watcher--a historian of Immortals."

"He's our best chance to work out who took Adam," Duncan says.

Xavier looks at Methos for an assessing moment. "Of course," he says. "I shall be very interested to meet him."

When Duncan calls, Joe laughs. "I'm already in New York! I track your credit cards. I'll be up in a couple of hours."

"You track my credit cards!" Duncan yells. Xavier raises both eyebrows.

"I lost Methos. You think I'm going to lose you too?"

*

Breakfast comes early, with plenty of bacon, strawberries, and Kitty and Siryn for some reason scrubbing the ceiling. Logan looks up, scratching his head for a second, before he shrugs and looks back at Narantuyaa in the morning sun.

He could fall in love with her.

Narantuyaa is beautiful, you'd have to be blind not to see that, but it's more. She's strong. She's out of bed already, in a track suit and sneakers from the basement gymnasium and sitting at the table across from Hank. All the little schoolboys are agog. All the little schoolgirls look about ready to kill the little schoolboys. Logan loads up on broken-yolked eggs and unevenly sliced fresh strawberries and slides in next to Big Blue to make friendly.

"Good morning," she says.

"Good morning, Narat--" He stops. He screwed it up already.

"Naraa." She grins. "Logan, first name or last?"

"Only."

"Old fashioned," she says, smiling.

"Memory issues." He shrugs.

"How old are you?"

He shrugs.

"Oh, that is bad," Narantuyaa says.

"Perhaps the drug didn't wear off all the way," Hank suggests. Hank is eating a soft-boiled egg out of a silver cup, a teeny little spoon held in his big blue paws. It would be completely fucking hilarious if Logan weren't so damn polite.

Across the room, Adam yawns. He leans against Duncan in the doorway. Little Artie runs over to Adam and screws his eyes closed, holding one finger up. "Good morning," Adam says.

Artie waves his hands furiously, clearly meaning shut up already. He clenches his face and starts forming an image. Logan sets his tray down and cranes his neck to see it. The kid is mute and speaks through images. They're usually worth seeing.

The image is an antelope with a shining heart between its horns. It stands between Artie and Adam, then leaps over Adam's head and around the dining room, over the other students. Artie stares fiercely, controlling its jumps, and then creates shining white dogs that leap after it. The antelope returns back to Artie and the heart leaps from between its horns. The antelope and hounds shimmer out of existence and the heart leaps up to the ceiling and explodes.

The students applaud. Artie grins. "Thank you, sir," Adam says, offering the boy his hand. Artie shakes it.

The little schoolgirls approach them, then, sneaking up beside Duncan. "I'm Rogue," Marie says. She flicks her white-striped hair in a way Logan does not like one bit.

"Jubilee."

"Kitty."

"Dani."

"Aurore."

"Ladies, a delight," Duncan says. Logan gives him the stink-eye. Marie is the oldest, at eighteen. Dani is only fourteen. Duncan spots the look on Logan's face and wiggles his eyebrows a tiny bit. Perv.

But Adam clears his throat and leans against Duncan, sliding his hand into Duncan's back pocket. "He's taken, girls." The girls break into hysterical giggles, even Marie.

"Well, that's a change," Naraa murmurs. "Last time I saw Duncan MacLeod, he offered to show me his sword collection." She touches her tongue lightly to her upper lip. It sends a prickle down Logan's stomach.

*

Logan lets himself into Scott's room after breakfast. Scott is still in bed. From the slow, heavy smell of him, he hasn't moved since last night. "Hey," Logan says.

Scott doesn't answer, so Logan walks over and opens the window. "Up and at 'em."

And lo and behold, Scott moves... he pulls the blanket over his face.

Logan grabs the blanket and pulls it off the bed. "Hell no, soldier! Let's go! Hup! Hup!"

"Tired..." Scott groans. His breath is bitter with ketosis. He probably hasn't eaten since they got back.

"Then you're goin' to the doctor. Breakfast or the doctor. Pick."

Scott rolls over heavily. "Fuck off, Logan," he says with no strength at all in his voice.

"You've been up here for two days. That woman isn't named Yuriko, she's--" Narantuyaa, he doesn't trust himself to say it right, "Naraa. We did surgery on her, she's cured. Took all the metal out. Adam's boyfriend showed up, he's four hundred years old. Now this mutant historian they know is coming to the school." Logan pauses. With the glasses, he can't tell where Scott is looking. He might even have his eyes closed. "You should care, Teach."

Scott doesn't answer.

Logan grabs him by the shirt--Scott struggles sluggishly--and walks backwards, dragging Scott along by his heels into the bathroom. He shoves Scott into the shower stall and turns the cold water on full. Scott yells like murder but Logan holds his body there under the cold water until Scott's fists get some real power behind them. "Y-y-you son of a bitch, y-y-y-b-b-bastard! You bastard!" Logan doesn't let up until Scott is awake enough to knock him down. They both sprawl in the bathroom doorway, Scott shaking with cold and rage.

They have an audience. Iceman, his eyes wide. "Out," Scott orders.

Logan heads out. "Scram, junior," he tells Bobby. Bobby scrams.

*

Scott's just tired; he doesn't know why it has to be a big deal. He pushed himself hard, looking for Jean. He failed. Now he's tired.

Logan follows him downstairs. He's earned enough leeway that Scott isn't blasting his face off with his eyes, but not enough for Scott to be civil to him after he doused him with freezing cold water.

He feels empty. This is the first real breakfast without her. He eats silently, considering asking to return to the lake. It's been a month. Just a month. Not so long.

"I'm sorry, Scott," the Professor says in his mind. "We need you here."

Scott bows his head.


	7. Friend.

Joe looks older. It's the first solid sign Methos has that time has passed. When he hugs Methos, he seems almost frail. "Jesus. Jesus!" Joe says.

"You said that already," Methos says. He slaps Joe on the back without releasing the embrace.

"You son of a bitch! You go missing and turn up here? Of all places! A school?"

"Why shouldn't I be in a school? I love education," Methos says.

"I'm going to kick your ass," Joe says. "And if you ever think you're going without a Watcher again, as long as you live--"

"Blah blah blah."

Duncan carries Joe's bag and guitar in. "Yeah, good luck with that," Duncan says.

"I'm sticking a GPS in your left kidney. Both of you!" Joe keeps hold of Methos like he might run away.

"Or you could just keep _tracking my credit cards._ "

Professor Xavier sits in the doorway to his office. "Interesting methodology," he says.

"Special circumstances," Joe says. "He's like a 400 year old James Bond and I have a couple of handicaps here. Joe Dawson." He steadies himself on his false legs and offers Xavier a handshake.

"Charles Xavier. I understand you're a historian."

"Half historian half spy," Duncan says. "I thought we were past this keyhole peeping. I thought we were friends."

"Get over it," Joe says.

They closet themselves in the office. "So. What in the hell happened to you?" Joe asks, punching Methos's arm.

But the Professor explains. The man Stryker, the brain control drug, the attack on the president designed to create anti-mutant hysteria, the experiments on mutants, the alteration of Logan, Narantuyaa, and Methos. Methos shows his knives. Duncan clenches his fists again. The prior capture and imprisonment of young mutants, including Scott, by Stryker. Logan's escape, the use of Naraa and Methos as personal bodyguards, kept close to the man himself. The rescue from the lake. And finally, the school.

"No. Immortals aren't mutants," Joe says.

"Because it makes more sense that there are two completely unrelated supernatural processes going on in the world?" Methos asks. "Anyway. Once he lost Logan, he started looking for similar mutants, and he found us. I think he had a sniffer. There's no way he would have found me otherwise, and Naraa seems pretty good as well; older female Immortals are nobody's fool."

"So there may be a fourth altered Immortal, this one loyal to Stryker. That's a concern," Xavier says.

"So we hit the books," Joe says. "It's all right here." He pulls a tiny notebook computer from his bag.

*

Logan walks Scott around the garden, Scott muttering "fuck you sideways" every time they turn a corner. It's good for him. Vitamin D and all that. The Professor opens a window after the sixteenth or seventeenth lap. "Feeling better, Scott?"

Scott shakes his head.

"Logan, come in, please. We may have found something."

"Good news or bad news?" It sounds stupid as soon as he says it. Any news is a clue. He tramps around the side of the house to the front door. Scott pushes past him, heading back to bed. Fine. They can dance again later.

The Professor, the other professor, and Adam are sitting around a coffee table scattered with printouts.

"I know who you are," Adam says.

Logan sits down.

"You first enter the chronicles in 1945, a farm hand turned soldier. You died at Normandy but didn't realize it for years. You then traveled north and raised sled dogs for a few decades--good dogs, some of your line still run the Iditarod--keeping remote enough that nobody noticed you didn't age. You were married once. She died of old age shortly before you disappeared twenty years ago. Your Watcher looked for you, but when nothing turned up, he figured you were starting over again after the loss of your wife. He categorized you 'underground' and that's where you stayed. No pictures. That's why it took so long," Adam says. "James Loden."

Logan looks him in the eye. Adam smiles. "Liar," Logan says.

"Hey!" Adam looks hurt, and it's genuine. He's not lying to cause pain. But he is lying. Logan can smell it on him; it's a light smell, not like the stink of a fearful cover-up, but more like happiness. He's telling tales.

It's a nice. He'd like to buy it. But it's not real. "I appreciate the effort, but I don't need fairy tales."

"It's true," Adam insists. "Look!"

"He's a good researcher, pulls things together that nobody else can," Joe says. He believes this absolutely. Logan wants to ask if he's got anyone checking up on Adam's amazing discoveries, but it's none of his business.

"Thanks but no thanks," Logan says, and walks out. Walks a mile before he feels like turning back around.

*

"Well, excuse me for trying to help," Adam mutters. He radiates irritation like a porcupine.

Charles smiles. "Logan is unaccustomed to good news," he says. He doesn't let Adam know that Logan thinks he's a liar.

"This fight happened three weeks ago," Joe says. "Does this--this is related to the worldwide mental attack, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Charles says. Stryker controlled his mind long enough that he used the machine Cerebro to give first all the mutants in the world, then all the normal humans a telepathic migraine. His body count, largely from car accidents, is 1,347. That doesn't count the injuries. If the fault isn't his, the memories are. He was with them all when they died.

"Reports are that the Immortals went down right before the Watchers did, and when the Watchers were affected, the Immortals weren't. One guy says he fell down an escalator and the Immortal he was watching helped him. They are mutants," Joe says. "Amazing. But why--man, I don't even know what questions to ask."

Adam looks at Duncan. "We should have put money on it."

"I never bet against you. You cheat," Duncan says.

"I don't think we're going to find the sniffer today. I'll keep looking." Joe turns off his computer.

Charles invites him to stay, but he declines, patting his false legs, saying that he and bunk beds don't agree. Charles drives him back to his Waterbury hotel himself. Duncan accompanies them; Adam starts to, but the moment he nears the front gate, he projects flight, flight, flight, with the image of a running rabbit under a sky full of hawks. He steps back with a mental picture of a rabbit disappearing into a burrow. "I'll keep looking in the printouts," Adam says.

Joe is disappointed. "I'll look after him," Duncan murmurs to him.

*

Methos feels the panic subside as he retreats inside. His first impulse in danger is always to run--but this is a strange new world, and he doesn't know what he's running from.

"Glad to see you're staying," Hank says. "I'd just like to run a few tests."

Methos sighs but submits. So does Narantuyaa. DNA tests show neither of them have the classic x-gene. X-rays show the metal alterations to their skeletons and the design refinements from Logan's.

Methos and Naraa stand side by side, looking at the scans. Naraa abruptly shivers. "It would be beautiful if it weren't me," she says.


	8. Learning.

The day after Joe Dawson's visit, Charles receives a call from an Agent Philip Coulson. "First of all, I want to state this call is not a threat in any way," Coulson says.

"I see," Charles replies.

"I'm an agent of SHIELD, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We have taken possession of William Stryker's papers and effects."

"I see."

"I wished to personally assure you that we have no more of your students in captivity. In fact, there are no mutants unlawfully detained that we know of. The only mutant under lock and key is the bank robber known as Multiple Man."

"I see."

"We will shortly announce the formation of a special team, code name Avengers, headed by Iron Man. We understand that many of your graduates have powers that would be invaluable to our operations. We wish to extend the hand of cooperation to yourself and your students."

"I see."

"And to inform you that the Avengers will take care of any future mutant and metahuman threats to the United States and its citizens. The official phone numbers will be out soon, but I wanted to find out if there are any issues at the moment that need this kind of special attention."

"Not a thing," Charles says.

"Good. And of course if something does arise in the future, and any group other than the Avengers responds, the situation would be treated as any other dispute between citizens. The United States has a system of policing bound by the Constitution, federal and state law."

"Of course."

"Excellent. I'll just give you my direct number."

Charles notes it down.

"I'm glad we could have this talk, Mr. Xavier. I look forward to speaking with you in the future."

"Delighted. Thank you," Charles says. He hangs up.

He supposes a government team was inevitable. They will have to wait and see how this turns out. He wonders what exactly Agent Coulson knows for several minutes, wishing Cerebro were repaired after Stryker's ravages so that he could find out.

But no. Patience. They need peace and quiet and patience.

*

Downward-facing dog is a real bitch. Naraa taps his shoulders. "Spine down! Ass up. Heels flat!"

Logan growls.

"Flexibility," Naraa says. She resumes her own pose. "Breathe!"

He breathes. It would be easier if his shoulder blades weren't trying to puncture his lungs.

"Step out." He does, gladly. They return to mountain pose, arms stretched overhead.

"Aren't you Mongolian? Isn't this Indian?" Logan grouses. Okay, so his shoulders feel looser and some of the tension is out of his back, but yoga isn't for him. He doesn't know how she got him to do it.

"Why is it more incongruous for me to practice an Indian art than you, whitey?" He looks at her. She looks at him. "Well?" she says.

"Because," Logan says.

"Ooo, nice argument." She picks up the towel from the ground and wraps it around her shoulders, dirty side out.

"So. How do you know MacLeod?" Logan asks.

"Duncan MacLeod, who uses a katana and practices hung gar kung fu?" She raises her eyebrows and her chin. "We met in Hong Kong in the thirties. I was working security for a rich man's wife--he didn't trust men around her--and he was buying art. I didn't think much of him until I found out he was the hunter of hunters. He and his cousin are infamous among our kind."

"Is that good or bad?" Christ, what he would give to have his memory back. He should know what he is.

"Very bad if you're an Immortal who kills mortals. Very bad if you break the rules. But if you follow the rules and behave with honor, you're all right with the MacLeods. You know the rules, don't you?"

"Yeah, they both told me. Fight one on one. Guns are cheating. Don't let yourself be discovered by mortals. Don't mess with mortals. Don't fight on holy ground. How do you know you're on holy ground?"

"You'll know," she says. "If you try to fight on holy ground, you will definitely know."

"Who says it's holy ground, anyway? I'm an agnostic. So I'm immune," Logan says.

"Doesn't matter. You'll know."

"That's if I wanna fight someone and take their head. I don't." He doesn't kill for fun. He knows he'll fight again, kill again, that's what he's signed up for, but not for kicks.

"Yeah, well," Naraa says. "Sometimes you can't avoid it. Sometimes they pick the fight. And sometimes you just want the motherfucker dead." She gives him the same look that Marie gives him from time to time, the one that says he understands goddamn nothing about anything, and walks off toward the house.

*

Rogue shares a quad with Kitty, Dani, and Jubilee. They face the back garden, which is really nice. She and Dani are sitting out on the teeny balcony while Jubes and Kitty are on the bed.

Jubilee tips Kitty's face into the light. "You are going to look so fierce," she says.

"I never really--sorry," Kitty says as Jubilee's makeup brush dips beneath her skin. "I'm ticklish."

"Stay solid! I'm going to leave eyeshadow in your cheekbone if you don't."

Kitty bites her lip and looks up.

Rogue looks back over the garden. She sees Narantuyaa in exercise clothes, a towel around her shoulders, looking pissed. Logan is over by the stable, looking in another direction, rubbing his neck in a way that means he's lady-confused. "He's so into her," Dani says. "I knew he never really was in love with Jean."

"Nobody could be in love with Jean like Scott was in love with Jean. Did you see how he's not shaving? And he's not eating right," Rogue says. "But I don't think Logan's in love with Narantuyaa."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Jubilee contributes.

"He just doesn't seem like he's in love with her!" Rogue says.

"You know who is in love? Ororo and Nightcrawler," Dani says.

"Totally!" Kitty shouts. She turns toward the balcony. The makeup brush ends up in the middle of her cheek.

"Dammit, Kitty!"

"Sorry! But they are, and they're so cute. I saw them in the hallway and Kurt was carrying Ororo's books. It's, like, Doris Day and Rock Hudson."

"Rock Hudson was gay," Jubilee says.

"Oh you know what I mean!"

"What color would their babies be? I'm thinking purple," Jubilee says.

"The blue is mutation, dodo," Rogue says. Jubilee throws the mascara at her. It's a short dull shock when it hits her in the arm. Nobody's touched her today, she realizes, not even Bobby.

Jubilee says, "I know! Mutations run in the family! Look at Siryn and her daddy, they both have the voice thing!"

"He's German, so he must be pretty pale. I bet their babies would look like me," Dani says. She's Cheyenne and looks a lot like Disney Pocahontas, Rogue thinks. She's pretty in that kind of way.

"I think I might break up with Bobby," Rogue says suddenly. The other girls all look at her.

"Why? He's a good kisser," Jubilee says.

"He's so cute," Kitty says.

"What's the problem?" Dani asks.

"He's--" She sighs and falls back against the windowsill. There's something just plain missing with her and Bobby, she doesn't know what. "I mean, he's fine. He's Bobby. He's nice."

"But you want Logan," Dani says.

"I do not!"

"He's old enough to be your dad. Or maybe grandpa," Jubilee says. "Or great-grandpa. Old man sac hangs pretty low, so watch out." She makes a grasping move with her hand in mid-air.

"Oh my god, I don't know why I even try to talk to you!" Rogue says, and she pulls her hoodie up around her face and storms off. This school is full of immature, gossipy, sheltered little CHILDREN. If she wants to hang out with Logan, it's because he's the only one worth hanging out with!

*

Logan gets a whiff of anger and talcum powder as Marie runs down the hill. "Hey, kid. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?" The pissed-off set of her face fades as she kicks dead leaves and bumps him with her shoulder.

"I don't know," Logan says.

"Nothing's wrong except your new friends screaming the house down. I thought you said you were unique? You know, a lone wolf, howling in the wilderness?"

"I thought I was."

"But then!" Marie dances in front of him, swinging her hips and her scarf teasingly. "Logan and Narantuyaa, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love! Then comes marriage!"

"Then comes Magneto's head on a stick," Logan growls at her. He catches her and pins her under his arm backwards.

"You are not a poet, Logan." She twists as he drags her along toward the stable, slipping her little hand around his waist. She tugs her hoodie into place so there's no accident of her skin touching his.

That one time she's touched him... it felt like all the warmth in his body had tried to jump into her skin. It felt like bleeding out without opening a vein. He had a tiny echo when Adam impaled their hands together, that weird connection that had nothing to do with bodies. He wonders what that feels like from the other side. He can't ever ask her. "Hey," Logan says, lifting Marie off her feet with a hug. "You'll like her when you get to know her. She's pretty amazing."

"I like her fine!"

"She almost beat me in a fair fight."

"Yeah, and that's a great foundation for a relationship."

"There's worse." Not that he's had many relationships he can remember. But he knows this without needing to remember. "Look. Girl power." Duncan is sparring with Narantuyaa, claws against sword in the riding ring. It's a practice sword, not the beautiful katana that Duncan brought with him, and a good thing. There are divots all up and down the blade and the tip is snapped clean off.

Logan and Marie lean on the fence a quarter circle away from Adam, who is watching the fight with narrow-eyed interest. Marie winces every time one of the fighters takes a blow. Neither sword nor claws are blunted. Duncan is lacerated down his back and right leg; Naraa is bloodied on her calf and forearms.

Duncan has the advantage in the flat, closed ring. Logan remembers Naraa leaping at him like a buzzsaw. She kicked his ass in the surgery room. She's holding her own on the flat, though. They're both obviously tired. It's just about over.

Naraa darts in and engages the sword with her right hand, twists into Duncan's grasp and slashes his thigh with her left hand. Duncan lets out a deep, shocked cry, and so does Marie when the blood shoots out. Naraa hit the artery.

Duncan falls onto his back with his sword to Naraa's throat. She's on top of him, holding the sword away from her neck with both hands. "Surrender, Highlander," Naraa says. "You're dying."

Duncan grins, panting through clenched teeth. "You think so? I feel fine."

Adam stands on the bottom rail and leans over the fence. "If you boot him in the crotch, you could probably take his head," he calls out. Naraa and Duncan both scuffle into action weakly.

"Fine," Naraa says, rolling over. "It's a draw." She sprawls in the dust.

Duncan points at Adam accusingly. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I told you to wear a cup."

Duncan groans.

"Me and you next," Logan says.

Duncan shakes his head on the ground. "I'm done."

"I meant Adam."

Adam raises his eyebrows. Naraa sits up, brushing the dust out of her hair. Duncan looks at Adam. "I don't spar," Adam says.

"You spar with me," Duncan says.

"Only when I'm trying to get teach you a lesson." Adam hops the fence and helps Duncan up. They lean against each other. Duncan kisses the end of Adam's nose.

"You seriously want to go get beat up," Marie says. "Do you like pain? Is that it?"

Logan ignores her and says, "I wanna see what you got."

"I got a great deal more experience than you, my lad, is what I got," Adam says, sounding like the Professor. It makes Logan want to beat his ass even more.

"Come on. Teach us a lesson," says Naraa.

Adam eyes Duncan. Duncan wiggles his eyebrows at Adam. Adam frowns slightly. Duncan tilts his head. "Go on, old man. Take him to school."

Adam sighs. He turns, supporting Duncan over to the fence, and then unlaces his shoes and leaves them by the fence. Logan hops over the fence. Naraa sits by Duncan, still finger-combing the dust out of her hair. Adam peels off his socks as well.

Logan decides he likes this shirt and takes it off. "Stop showing off!" Marie calls.

"Stop watching!" He tosses the shirt over a fence post. Marie picks it up and crosses her arms with a glare.

He rolls his shoulders. Adam is smaller, lighter, and barefoot. On top of that, Logan's claws are much longer, so he's got a foot of reach on the guy, easy. But Logan's not stupid. Adam's confidence makes him cautious.

They spiral around each other, watching each other's movements, ending up in the middle of the ring. Adam pops his knives and Logan extends his claws. "I'm almost used to these now," Adam says. He puts up his dukes in a classic boxing stance.

Too easy. Has to be a trick. Logan waits for him to move, but of course he's not going to. Logan feints at Adam's forward leg, just to get him to shift. He bounces to the side and raises one corner of his mouth. His bare toes flex in the dirt, waiting and ready. Logan slashes at his arm, but Adam ducks out of reach, and Logan follows with a dart to the leg at the edge of his balance, but Adam has already moved.

Adam settles back into the boxer's stance, untouched. Logan shifts around him, but Adam bounces back and forth on his toes, equally ready anywhere.

Hell with it. Logan bulls in, that's his strength, and it's always worked for him before. He charges, yelling, and then he's face down on the ground, twitching, and his mouth is filling with blood. What--?

Marie screams. "You shot him!"

"It's not permanent."

"You still shot him!"

"Where the hell did you get a gun?" Duncan asks. "This is a school!"

Logan groans and turns over. His eyes blur in and out of focus. Shape in front of him resolves into Naraa, offering him her hand, laughing silently.

"Look, I warned him! I don't spar! MacLeod, a little help here?" Adam is hiding behind Duncan. In front of the two men--Logan raises his head painfully--Marie has one glove pulled off and is looking awfully fierce.

"You're a scoundrel, old man," Duncan says.

"You could have taken him in a fair fight," Naraa says to Logan. Her eyes sparkle as she pulls him to his feet.


	9. Exercise.

Scott sits in the TV lounge because he might as well sit somewhere.

"MAGNETO," the television growls. Ominous music, heavy on the drums, rolls behind the narrator.

"Narrated by Wilbur Franks. He's cheap. This is a low quality production," Quentin says without emotion.

"The monster of metal. The sinister head of the Brotherhood of Mutants. He is responsible for terrorism and murder." The TV cuts to the footage of the Statue of Liberty attack. "Terror at the UN. White plasma spreads from a desecrated monument. What was this strange material? We still don't know."

"That is clearly not plasma. Plasma is ionized gas, or alternately, a component of blood. That is an interference pattern caused by mist and radiation," Quentin says. Scott just watches the TV.

Same old crap. Nobody knows the origin of the man, blah blah blah. Scott knows. He worked with the Professor, but he turned bitter and violent. He didn't have hope.

Fucking hope for the fucking future. Jean below the waves. Gone now. Skeleton now. Nothing left.

When he cries, the tears sizzle against his corneas, and nobody ever sees.

*

"There's a downtick in the number of new Immortals," Joe reports.

"Maybe they're mutants instead," Duncan says.

"Cassandra went underground," Joe says. "Do you think?"

"No," Duncan says, but--"No, surely not."

*

Classes start while Duncan and Methos are still staying at the school. Duncan volunteers to help. He likes teaching. "Can you speak French?" Xavier asks him. "Can you swim?" Duncan answers "yes" to both questions and this, apparently, qualifies him to be a flying coach.

He's helping the Quebeçois twins Jean-Paul (who sometimes calls himself Étoile Nord) and Jeanne-Marie (who always introduces herself as Aurore) learn to use their powers on this still-warm October day. Aurore can fly, but is shaky on control. Her brother can run at supernatural speeds, but hasn't worked out flying. So he is running across the surface of the small lake behind the mansion, trying to make the leap from running to flying, and she is flying loopily from edge to edge. They both crash frequently.

"Baptême de crisse," Jean-Paul curses, kicking the water. He loses concentration and drops through the surface of the water, landing in the soft bottom.

"Langue," Duncan warns him.

"I am soaked through and I cannot fly! Sister, you taunt me!" He shakes his fist at the sky.

She is spreadeagled and twisting angrily overhead. "How am I to push against the air? It's just air!"

"Kids! Come on down, let's try something else." He's winging it. On the wooden lifeguard's platform at the water's edge, Methos is sunbathing lazily, not lifting a finger to help him out. Typical. "Float. Just float on your back, Jean-Paul."

Jean-Paul sighs and spreads his arms, raises his legs, and casts off onto the surface of the lake. His silver-tinged black hair and pointed ears and eyebrows make him look like a water nymph. Aurore crashes down about twenty feet away; Duncan wades over, ready for rescue, but she pops right back up.

"Your bodies know how your powers work. It's not a skill you learn, like swimming; it's something you're already designed to do, like learning to walk. Your body knows how. So we'll try some meditation, and maybe you can learn to listen to what your body is telling you." And he's exhausted. Teenagers are bad enough. Teenage twins with superpowers are unholy. "Let the water carry you," Duncan says.

Methos, on the platform, starts throat singing. "And you shut up," Duncan says, and the twins giggle.

Duncan pulls himself up onto the platform. "Just relax," he tells them. "I'm watching." The twins reach out without opening their eyes and find each other's hands. They bob gently in the water, two skinny children just beginning to enter into adulthood, heads pointing in opposite directions like yin and yang.

"Why do we float in water?" Jean-Paul asks.

"Physics," Duncan answers. "The human body is less dense than water. Your molecules are less tightly packed than that of the water below you, partially because of the air in your lungs. Breathe out, and you're denser, and you sink in the water. Breathe in, and you rise up, just a little." He can see them trying it. Their chests rise and fall much more than they have been. "The air above you is even less dense. We walk through it like it's not even there, but when Storm uses her power on the wind, all she's doing is adjusting the density in a specific way. And she can knock down a building or a tree."

The power contained in this house is astounding. The two Immortals are _minor_ powers here. Here are these children who can control the elements or destroy someone's mind. Duncan, in the first blush of meeting Methos, couldn't stop looking at him and seeing five thousand years yawning back in his face. It took hours, days before he could think of him as only a man.

Only an annoying, petty, self-centered man, he thinks, looking down at Methos's basking face. He leans down and kisses Methos's warm lips.

"When I fly, I am not fluffier than air," Aurore says. Her eyes are closed. Jean-Paul has one eye cracked and is spying on Duncan.

Duncan lowers his brow at Jean-Paul, who shuts his eyes, and continues. "We float because we're less dense. But we fly because of motion. The bird flaps its wings and cuts through the air faster than gravity can pull it downwards. The pressure of the wing against the air opposes gravity long enough for the bird to stay upright, and the angle of the wing against the air pushes it forward more forcefully than friction opposes it. But you don't have wings. You have more in common with the airplane. The airplane uses its fixed shape to control the flow of air around it. An airplane stays up because it goes forward."

They understand on a gut level. Duncan can see their brains ticking over. Duncan stretches out next to Methos, giving him a triumphant schoolteacher's smile. Methos leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. Duncan returns the favor, on his mouth, and the birdsong and sunlight must be going to his head, because they don't stop until Methos laughs into his mouth.

Methos points upward. The twins are in the air, spinning slowly around their joined hands. "Oh, don't stop," Aurore pleads. She swings her brother's hand and light flashes from their fingers like sunlight through branches.

"Lesson's over," Duncan says, but he's smiling. They have it. They're in control. They reach their other hands together as well and, still spinning around each other, return to the ground. "Practice together and you'll get it separately."

*

Rogue is practicing with the girls behind the stable. They're supposed to be supervised. They're not.

Jubilee tosses explosive charges at Kitty. "Hah!" Kitty says, wiggling her butt. "Stop trying to hit me and hit me!" Meanwhile, Dani is trying to control her mental images; she's trying to duplicate Kitty to confuse Jubilee's blasts. Jubes is giving her tips.

And Rogue is alone, pushing water buckets around with Magneto's power.

"It's like," Jubilee says, gesturing at her head, "you see it in your head. And then you make it real. Like, you push it outward."

"But what if I do it wrong?" Dani says. She twists her hands in circles, trying to demonstrate.

Jubilee shrugs and tosses a shower of tiny blast sparks off. One hits Kitty in the boob before she can phase. "OW," Kitty howls. "Oh, GOD." She folds over, holding her chest. "Jesus, Jubes!"

"Sorry! You were supposed to duck!"

"Ow, _man_!" Kitty sits on a hay bale, still pressing both hands to her boob. "I'm out! I think I lost a cup size."

"Some ice?" Rogue asks. She makes a palmful of ice and drops it on Kitty's shirt.

"Ee! Thanks."

"Oh come on," Jubilee says, leaning over Kitty as Rogue makes another batch of ice. She accidentally brushes against Rogue's naked arm.

They jump back from each other as if electrocuted. Jubilee stares at her, eyes wide; Rogue tugs her gloves up, feeling venomous. "Are you okay?" Rogue asks.

Jubilee rubs her arm. "Yes, I think so."

"I've gotta go do homework!" Rogue says. It's transparent. They know she doesn't. But they let her run away, back to the computers. She's good at the computers.

*

"I must insist that you shave," Xavier says in Scott's head before Scott comes down to breakfast. "You're scaring the children."

"I'm sorry," Scott replies. It's a feeling more than a sentence. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry.

"And we cannot put off math classes any longer."

He's sorry.

"Scott." It's a warm feeling, a tone more than a word. Xavier is the only father he can remember. Nobody else has that hearthfire in their voice when they speak to him. He's sorry for disappointing him. He's so sorry.

"We need you."

Scott shaves the beard. It looks terrible anyway.

"Come here," Xavier says. Scott does; and he falls to his knees beside the chair, and lays himself open, he doesn't know how he can stand it, he doesn't know if he can do it without her, he's hollow, empty, blank, there is no more joy, can never be. Xavier takes his hand and his head. The tears turn to steam behind his closed eyes.

"I do know, Scott," Xavier murmurs, half in his ear and half in his mind. Feeling of loss, not his own. "Erik was the love of my life. Is. He's alive, but--" Murder, genocide. The concepts echo between them. "Lost. I grieve for what he might have been. We continue because we must."

Xavier shares an image, intensely private, tinged yellow like sunlight. Magneto as a young man, framed in a satellite dish like a halo. Love tastes like honey. Hope smells like sunlight.

Scott thinks about Jean the first time they met. He was still blind, unable to open his eyes without destroying everything he saw, so his memory is of a kind voice and the smell of vanilla.

"I love you dearly, Scott."


	10. Scar.

Scott's neck burns.

"There now." Hank drops the awful little control disk into a tray. "I'll just bandage this up. I'm afraid you'll have a scar."

"I prefer to have a scar," Kurt says.

Scott rests on the next bed, waiting for the local anesthetic to wear off. Adam has already healed and is examining the disk. "It's just a port, then," Adam says.

"I thought it connected to your nervous system but I was quite wrong. A port, as you said, to allow access for the drug without a needle."

It's just another invasion. This is the second time Stryker had Scott. The first time, he didn't know what was happening because he was a kid and he was blind and he didn't know shit about shit. The second time, he didn't know what was happening because he was drugged. The first time, it ended in him meeting Jean.

"Your body art is beautiful," Adam says, dropping the disk back into the tray. "Do you do it yourself?"

Kurt smiles as much as he can with his face flattened against the bed. "At first I had help. Now, I do it myself."

A scar for every sin, Kurt said to Storm. There are quite a few scars.

"When I was young I had a tattoo, but they don't regenerate when our skin does. I lost it... a long time ago. I miss it."

"How sad. Do you think about applying it again?" Kurt's fingers twitch as Hank tears tape from the roll.

Adam looks down and laughs like it's a joke. "It's in fashion again. Maybe I should."

"I believe in history," Kurt says. "The body is the history of the life. It's terrible to have your history erased!"

And like that, Scott wants to take a scalpel and write I LOVE JEAN GREY up one arm and down the other. Smear ink in it and he has a tattoo, raw and real and likely to infect. He wonders what Hank would say. He wonders what would happen if he wrote "M" on his face, marked himself like the kids on the underground mutant message boards.

But the kids need him. He doesn't have the luxury of dramatic gestures. He has the luxury of a warm bed, good food every day, a leader who loves him, and two dozen young minds to help form.

And Hank's fur clashes with Kurt's skin. Scott snorts, unable to keep it down. "You all right, Scott?" Hank asks.

"Just fine," Scott says. It's not true, but he wants it to be. He supposes that's a start.

*

While Duncan is teaching the twins to fly, Methos has found himself a protégé. He's teaching Rogue to shoot.

Bang. Bang. Bang. She's not bad. "I think I got some skills from Logan," Rogue says.

"Now it's just practice," Methos says. He puts another clip in front of her. She changes the clip smoothly, without needing to be prompted.

Bang. Bang, bang, bang, bang bang bang. Bang bang. Her aim wavers, her arm not used to the shock and weight, but she handles the gun confidently.

"Nobody else will teach me anything like this. So, thanks," she says.

"Sure," he says. She reminds him of a former wife. Juana, the one who knifed two soldiers when they came to drag him before the Inquisition. They'd been buried together. He misses her whenever he thinks of her. Were he not already involved, he'd be tempted to marry this girl.

Bang. Out of the corner of his eye, Methos sees Scott pause in the doorway to watch and then keep walking.

*

Rogue must have explained this process a dozen times, but it makes her weirdly shy, having Duncan MacLeod leaning over her shoulder. "So you join this group," she says, "I'm just submitting your email. I'm vouching for you--see how you have to know someone and get an invite?"

"Right," he says.

"So if someone starts inviting media spies and stuff, the moderators know who's responsible. It's all self-policing. Check your email."

Duncan does. "Right. So I join the group and I'm in?"

"Yeah, to the first set of Genenet channels. Then you start talking in the general discussions about mutant registration and harassment stories and all that. And the more you talk, and the more intelligent and real people see that you are, the more groups open up to you. It's almost all invite-only. It has to stay underground because so many people aren't out and stuff. And because some of us have dangerous mutations that we don't want the officials to find out about."

"I understand." He thinks about six years searching for his lover. "So I'm in the mutant underground now. Thank you."

"Stay away from the sewer threads. Those are all Morlocks and they're up to no good." Rogue points to Duncan's screen with her gloved finger. "And don't go to the L-bug site. They're just doing drugs. I spend most of my time in support, you know, helping people deal? There are threads for different kinds of mutations."

She watches as he scrolls through. Under "powers support," the threads range from "are you feeling blue," the section on alternate skin colors, to "loose juice," which means electricity, to "no antiperspirant in the world" which referenced secretions of the skin such as slime, all the way down to "the hard stuff." He clicks on that topic.

"That's me. People who can kill people or kill themselves from their powers. There's a boy who sweats a neurotoxin. We talk a lot. He can't even go outside without a hazmat suit," Rogue says.

 _Bad day today. I dropped a cup and the kitchen table exploded. I try to control my anger but how can I not be upset when something happens? It's not human._

 _Discovered a new trick! If I wrap a scarf over my face mask, people think I'm Muslim! LOL. Trading one problem for another. But at least nobody tells me to take the mask off, they can't hear what I'm saying. Sometimes I want to just do it. But that would be second degree murder, LOL. Will you guys be my alibi?_

 _Hey, checking in. In a lot of pain today but the oxy mostly does the job. Back to bed... see you on the flip side..._

 _NOT DEAD YET BUT CLOSE. Fucking cocoon wouldn't break for two days. Taking up meth, never sleeping again. So freaking thirsty. BRB more gatorade._

"These are... terrible," Duncan says.

"Yeah," Rogue says. "Like it says, it's the hard stuff. Man, Caterpillar's getting worse. It used to be his cocoons were just tough, but now they're harder than concrete, and he can't stop them from forming. He's gonna die soon, most likely."

"But people are helping him?"

"What can we do?" She shrugs. "We just talk. We just..." There's nothing anybody can do.

"Accept what you cannot change," Duncan says.

She rests her chin on her fist and scrolls through the pages. She selects one and responds, typing quick as machine gun fire, reaching out through the glass and metal web to other mutants who were so very far away.

*

The President's address is on all the channels. Quentin blinks his eyes rapidly and the TV flicks from channel to channel, making Logan queasy, until Jubilee throws a pillow at him. "Enough!"

"The variations on the same image are interesting," Quentin says. He's a television addict, maybe because of his power, which is control of electromagnetic radiation and electron flow. He doesn't sleep. He says he's conducting observational experiments on American culture through the television. Logan thinks he's ten and what's he doing talking like that, but he kind of likes the kid anyway, not least because he has pretty much the same powers as Magneto but doesn't use them to push Logan around.

"If I puke, I'm puking directly on you."

"I've already stopped." Quentin doesn't take his eyes off the TV, which he settled on CNN.

Marie perches on the arm of Logan's chair. Her boot tucks up beside his knee. Dani, Bobby, Kitty lean behind him. Most of the school is crowded into the room. Hank is standing behind the Professor's wheelchair.

"Good afternoon," the President says. "My fellow Americans, this decade has seen us in a time of change. The new challenges of terrorism and mutation--"

Catcalls from all the girls. "Yeah, cause that's the same!" Jubilee yells.

"--never think that your leaders have ignored your concerns."

Dani blows a raspberry. "Hey! Spitting!" Logan says. She rubs her sleeve in his hair.

"I am proud to introduce the Avengers," he says, and the camera swings out to the side. "Iron Man, Tony Stark, well known to us all for his heroism against the forces of terror. The unfrozen soldier, Captain America, ready to rejoin the fight against America's enemies. With them are Dr. Henry Pym, also known as Giant Man, and his wife Dr. Janet Pym, Wasp Woman. These individuals together have uncovered the secrets of controlling their size. And from the mutant-American community, Peter Maximoff and his sister Wanda Maximoff, code name Quicksilver and Vermilion."

Xavier inhales sharply. Logan glances at him. "Those are Magneto's children," Xavier says. Quentin pauses the TV. "Though that should be Pietro, not Peter, and her mutant name is Scarlet Witch, not Vermilion."

"Sanitized for TV," says Marie.

"I remember them when they were nineteen," Hank says. "I haven't seen them since." They're cutting Hank out of the loop, Logan thinks; that's not good.

"I knew they were estranged, but this is extraordinary. Especially Pietro..." Xavier frowns in thought. "Please, Quentin, continue."

"--And the 'Hero of Harlem,' Samuel Thomas Wilson, code name Falcon."

"Not a mutant," Xavier murmurs.

"White guy, white guy, white guy, Chinese chick, white guy, white chick, black guy. I feel so included," Jubilee says.

"So Logan, in Canada, can you heckle the Queen?" Marie asks him. She kicks his knee lightly with her boot.

"Yeah. But you'll go to hell when you die," he says.


	11. Youth.

There's a tap at the door, and then it opens before Duncan can get up to answer. Jean-Paul pokes his sharp face inside. "Hello! I must speak to you."

"Sure," Duncan says. Methos looks up from his book. He's sitting in the desk chair with his feet up on the windowsill.

Jean-Paul closes the door. "It is about sex."

"Oh. Uh." Duncan stands up and crosses his arms. Well, this is fairly normal, the student having a crush on the teacher. He'll let the boy down gently, of course.

"What do you want to know?" Methos asks.

Jean-Paul kneels on the bed and leans his hands on the footboard, eyeballing Methos. "The taste of semen, is it always the same? I taste myself but I wonder. I do not want to finally get into Peter's pants and start to gag."

Oh. "More or less," Duncan says.

"It depends on the guy and what he's been eating. If you like him, you probably won't gag. But if you want to be sure, pull off before he shoots and just jerk him with your hand," Methos says.

"No. I want to _blow his mind_ ," Jean-Paul says firmly.

"You will whether you swallow or not. Trust me."

"Peter's a bit young," Duncan says. Peter, called Colossus, is deceptively large and well-built. He won't be sixteen for another month or so.

Jean-Paul shrugs. "He moons after Wolverine and also you. He thinks nobody notices, but I do. If he's old enough to crush on teacher he's old enough for me, yes?"

Well, the kid has a point. Duncan sits on the bed beside him. "Just go easy. He might not take your advances so well. He might not even be inclined that way."

"He is. I have been looking for a boy like him since I was twelve. I am _sure_ ," Jean-Paul says. He bounces on his heels, turning back to Methos. "Do you use a condom? Is there a reason without babies and without disease?"

"What do you mean without disease? You're not immune to disease, young man."

"We are both _virgins_."

Methos reaches out and takes his chin. "Never. Assume. Anything. Wear a condom. Here," he says, and he takes a box out of the desk drawer. "Do you need me to show you?"

"No."

"I'm showing you anyway. Go get me a banana from the kitchen, MacLeod."

"Enh, I had this lecture ten million times!" Jean-Paul groans. Duncan runs down to the kitchen anyway.

Logan and Rogue are hanging out there, Rogue working on her math homework and Logan reading _Watership Down_. "I need a banana," Duncan says.

Logan sniffs, gets up, and opens a cupboard. "Why?" he asks, handing Duncan a banana. He tucks the book into his back pocket.

"Adam's giving someone the Talk."

"Shit, better him than me."

"Who?" Rogue asks.

"I shouldn't say."

"Is it Jean-Paul? He said he was going to ask you guys for sex tips. He's got his eye on someone but won't say who, but we all know it's Peter. Peter's got a crush on you, Logan," she says, batting her eyes at Logan. "And if you give him any crap about it I'll make you wish you were dead."

Logan twitches. He marches out of the kitchen and Duncan follows. "I can't handle this. The last time I explained sex to a virgin was 1874," Duncan mutters.

"I think I liked it better when they were scared of me."

Duncan opens the door. "Catch, Methos!" he calls, tossing the banana without looking. He then slams the door safely behind him.

*

Scott yawns as he heads to the garage. "The visitors are friendly," Xavier says in his head. The professor is already in bed and can't join him except in spirit.

It's the day before Halloween and the mansion is thick with pumpkins and skeletons. Quentin is in the lounge even though it's well past midnight. The kid is physically incapable of sleeping. Xavier says not to be concerned, but Scott's always worried Quentin is going to go crazy. Scott touches his shoulder on the way out the door. "Homework?"

"Already done." Quentin blinks and the channel changes.

They have visitors. A taxi pulls into the garage.

Daredevil steps out of the passenger seat. Scott's never seen him before, but the red leather suit is distinctive. It's functional like the X-Men suits are. Daredevil glances from him to the Professor, then bends down and lifts an adolescent girl with one leg in a cast out of the back seat. A woman, looks like her mother, steps out of the driver's seat. "Welcome to you all," Xavier says.

"Can you help her?" the woman asks. "She's not a bad girl. She fell in with bad people but she's not a bad girl." She has an English accent, thick black hair, dark skin. Her jeans are cheap, but her shoes look both comfortable and good quality, and her coat is London Fog, barely starting to wear at the hems and buttonholes.

"Mom," the girl says. She has an American accent, bright pink skin and purple hair, as far as Scott can tell with his distorted vision. She's wearing jean cutoffs and a cheap, fashionable black linen jacket.

"We'll try to help her. What's the matter?" Xavier asks.

"Her bones are growing on the outside of her skin."

"This is Sarah Rushman; her mother is Jaya," Daredevil says.

"I'm Marrow," the girl says.

"Sarah, don't you dare! Don't bring that nonsense here!"

"My name is Cyclops," Scott says. "Birth names aren't everything."

Hank comes down then; lucky he's in town. His government activities mean he's only down once a month at most. They need another staff doctor... Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. They need a doctor to replace Jean.

They take Marrow and her mother to the surgery so Hank can check her out. Daredevil stays in the garage. There are small scars all along his jaw beneath the mask; his suit has been torn and repaired with tiny stitches; there is broken glass in the tread of his boots that gives him a faint trail of glittering fragments.

Daredevil asks for a trash can. He props a boot up and bends over gracefully, knocking the glass out of his soles with a stick he carries with him. Scott can't see his eyes through the lenses of his mask. It makes him hard to read. "Nice to be back," Daredevil says. "It's changed."

The Professor trusts him, but the Professor trusts everyone. Scott is tired and it's late. "You've been here before?"

"I was almost a student here."

"I didn't realize you were a mutant."

"It's complicated." Daredevil knocks the sole of his boot once more and switches legs.

"Do you want to come in?"

"No. She'll be back up in a minute."

And in fact, Jaya is back in the garage within two minutes. Daredevil reaches out and hugs her before Scott even realizes she's upset. "She'll be okay. I promise," Daredevil says.

Jaya presses her face to his leather shoulder and cries.

"We have to go home," Daredevil says to Scott. "She has to go to work. And so do I."

Jaya sniffs. "Yes, work. If I don't work, we don't eat. I'll send money for her school, just let me know what it is."

"The school is funded by private donors," Scott says. "We charge a food allowance only." They charge on a sliding scale, actually. Bobby and the twins are charged a full tuition of $18,000 a year. Rogue, as an endangered runaway, is sheltered free of charge. He doesn't think Jaya would accept a free ride, though, and the look on her face tells him he's right.

Jaya prints her name, address, and phone in neat block capitals. "I've already said goodbye. I just want her to be safe and happy and away from those bad people. The Morlocks," she says.

"Bad news," Daredevil says.

"We haven't even heard of them up here." Scott needs to check with Rogue. She's more attuned to the new mutant gangs and such.

Jaya covers her face, takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says. "Okay."

They pull out.

*

"I set an alarm to wake me up every hour. Then I can clear away the cocoon before it hardens. It's working so far," Caterpillar says on IM.

"That sucks, but good thinking," Rogue types back.

"So it stabilizes when I get older, right?"

"Yeah," Rogue types. Stabilizes, yeah, but that doesn't mean it won't kill him. It might just kill him stably. But he knows that, and she would be cruel to say it. "Have you tested all the solvents?" she types on the next line.

"Ethyl and methyl alcohol, everything water-based, everything petroleum-based. Also turpentine. Is that petroleum?"

"I think it comes from trees," Rogue types.

"Mom is trying to get some liquid nitrogen to see if we can freeze and shatter it. That might work. It's just hard to figure out deployment without you know burning her or me. Also how do I let her know I'm trapped? Also how do we test it without me being in a hardened cocoon?"

"Maybe if you tear a breathing hole and then let the rest harden?"

"That didn't work so well before," Caterpillar types. About six months ago, he got caught in a hardening cocoon, and his mom had to take a sledgehammer to it in order to get him out. But when she sledgehammered the cocoon, she also sledgehammered his arm, shattering his upper arm bone into six pieces. He almost lost the arm, it was broken so badly. Fighting the cocoons while in the hospital was especially hellish, since they grew faster when he was injured. Basically, Caterpillar's body is like an alien being at war with his brain.

"Rogue?" Scott walks into the library. "Got a second?"

"Sure," Rogue says. She types "GTG, BRB" into the IM window.

"What do you know about Morlocks?" Scott asks.

"Bad news mutant gang that wants all flatscans to die, and I know that's a bad word, but it's the word they use, okay?"

Scott raises his eyebrows at her in a teacherful way. "Magneto's plan, basically."

"Except they haven't got any, like, organization or ideas or method. They just basically advocate stealing from people and beating people up." She shrugs. "I would have told you if I saw anything real. I called the cops a couple of times when they gave any real information. They post right in the open threads, the tards."

Scott clears his throat. "Also a bad word."

"Sorry."

"Thanks. Keep us posted. You're our eyes and ears," Scott says, and pats her on the shoulder. Yeah, because she can't touch anyone, so it's safer to socialize on the Internet, so she knows all the online goings on.

She looks back at the IM screen. Caterpillar is off, but Scorpionfish is on. "Hey, girl," Rogue types. "How are the fins?" It will take Scorp a little while to respond with her fused fingers, so in the mean time, Rogue pulls up the Undernet boards and checks the Morlock threads. Just to be sure.


	12. Age.

Doctor Chandel is easy to spot: A small, beautiful woman, graceful and delicate as a porcelain doll.

Charles closes his eyes. Scott, beside him, is sharp with grief; he's painfully grateful that she looks nothing like Jean, and hopes that he can get past the lingering association of her role. Duncan, greeting her, projects a stir of lust; they were lovers once. He trusts her, or else he wouldn't risk bringing her to the school.

The woman herself is both young and old. She trusts Duncan. He catches a flicker of powerful immortal memory, herself as a midwife, Duncan as a chevalier. She has a deep affection for him and deeper than that, all the way to the core of her personality, a love of medicine and a desire to help.

She is not a spy. He is entirely sure of this. They've already gone over her resume with Hank--her complete resume, back to the 1500s. It was refreshing, she said, not to have to lie. Hank thoroughly approved her background. She's visiting to see how she fits. He opens his eyes and Scott is looking down at him. "I approve," Charles says, pitched for Scott's ears only.

"Duncan MacLeod is a useful man," Scott says. Charles raises an eyebrow in agreement.

*

Narantuyaa slides her blades out from her fingers. "They are pretty," she says, admiring them. Her blades are flexible, not like Logan's or Adam's. She wiggles her fingers and they rattle like wind chimes.

"We're stuck with it. Might as well get the most out of it," Logan says. He flicks one blade with his nail. "You're amazing with them."

"I can't remember."

"It'll come to you. Your body remembers, deep down inside."

"Will you spar with me?"

"Promise not to bring a gun?"

"Cross my heart," she says. She breathes in deeply and he realizes she can probably smell him now. He's been drunk on the scent of her sweat since he met her. Now, so close, he can see she isn't wearing makeup, and the smooth ivory of her cheeks is natural. He can see the tiny squint lines around her eyes, the beginning of a laugh crease beside her mouth.

And she can smell him, and she leans in closer. "I trust you," he says.

Clatter of plates behind them. Speedy Sam shrieks and runs out of the room.

Logan suddenly realizes that there are kids all around them; they're in the middle of the dining hall, hormones are thick in the air, and he needs to stop flirting in front of the children. He stands up, clearing their plates, and glares at the kids, daring them to giggle. Marie giggles anyway. No respect.

"I need a mutant name. What do you think, Rogue? I like yours," Narantuyaa says.

"But your name is so pretty!"

"It means 'sunbeam.' It doesn't really fit." She flicks her fingers so the tips of the blades whistle through the air.

Logan sits back down beside her. "Lady Deathstrike." It's what he called her in his head while he was fighting her.

"You have to be kidding," Narantuyaa says, but she's smiling warmly at him. "Maybe I should just be the Hun. Like the Highlander or the Viking or the Kurgan."

"What's that about the Kurgan?" Adam's voice precedes him. He enters the room with Jean-Paul beside him. Logan wonders where his sister is. The twins are usually inseparable.

"Trying to think of my mutant name."

"Oh. No, I'm not a fan of place names. Duncan and his cousin both are called the Highlander, it gets confusing." Adam walks around them to the coffee pot. He takes a mug and Jean-Paul politely pours.

"Why do you never use your mutant name, Adam?" Jean-Paul asks.

Adam looks surprised. "I don't have one."

"But you do. Duncan calls you Methos. What does it mean?"

Adam freezes. Logan can smell the sharp reek of fear roll off him. Doesn't make any sense. Adam looks at him and Narantuyaa without moving his head.

"He also calls you old man," Jean-Paul continues, "but as a name that's not so good. It makes you sound like Yoda. What is it? What is wrong?"

Adam doesn't answer. His eyes are locked with Naraa. "Methos means the oldest man in the world," Narantuyaa says. "Five thousand years old, right? Or is it six?" She's tensing up too, and her blades quiver.

Dani cries out and covers her face. She's a little bit telepathic and very sensitive to moods. Kitty reaches over and strokes her hair. Marie frowns at Adam.

"Five and a bit, I think. Hard to be sure." Adam's voice is very deep.

Smell of sharp terror. It puts him on full alert. "Hey," Logan says. He looks from Adam to Narantuyaa to Dani and the girls.

"Oldest and most powerful of any of us," Narantuyaa says, and Logan gets it--that psychotic death cult, oh shit--as she turns in her chair and her blades rattle and Dani screams and Adam throws the coffee pot in Narantuyaa's face.

Narantuyaa screams, Dani screams, the other kids scream, the entire dining hall echoes. Logan's head rings and he's lost for a second. Pain hits. He has boiling coffee in his eyes. "What, no, no!" Jean-Paul cries. Glass breaks. Smell of coffee outweighs everything.

"STOP," the Professor says in all their heads.

The screams cut off like a tap. Logan presses his palms over his eyes and when he can focus, Narantuyaa is slumped at his feet and Adam is sprawled in the doorway, his claws gouging the wall. The kids sob around him.

Xavier rolls down the hallway and Duncan skids to a stop behind him, a katana in his hands. Duncan eyes the room, then drops down beside Adam. "Logan, please take Narantuyaa to the basement. Duncan, please take Adam to the garden. We must have peace here before all else," Xavier says.

*

Rose hips. Bright orange, inches from his face.

"Let me up," Methos says. The rose stems are scratching his ear. Duncan has him pinned with an elbow in his gut.

Duncan leans in a little harder. "The professor needs to talk to you."

Methos meets his eyes, deep rich brown, healthy and promising as a ripe field. "It's time to go. You know it as well as I do. This place isn't for us."

"I'm not so sure."

Methos sighs and closes his eyes. Rose hips, sleeping grass, a few small brown leaves in his hair, green pine resin. Autumn. Being with Duncan, he feels a kinship with autumn, the slowing time, when the fruits of summer are plucked and the earth begins to fall barren. He feels his age. The seeds of his youth have grown, flowered and fallen, leaving him an empty stem laden with one, huge, rich, juicy, tempting fruit. One day, someone would cut it off.

"Gentlemen."

Duncan lets Methos up as Xavier joins them.

"We just want to talk," Logan says, following Xavier. Narantuyaa follows him.

"Sure. Talking makes the world go round," Methos says. He crosses his arms and waits.

"Grandfather," Narantuyaa starts, and Methos's heart thumps. It's been a long, long time since anyone called him that particular term of respect. "I apologize. I am so ashamed." Her face is tight, head bowed. "I forgot that I was a guest here. I forgot that you were responsible for my rescue. I forgot our common humanity. In short, I forgot myself in a moment's greed. I can only apologize." She stands tall, eyes cast down, and waits.

Xavier looks expectant, but Methos just nods shortly. Narantuyaa and Logan retreat back into the house.

"I asked Logan once how long it had been since he felt safe. I could ask you the same thing," Xavier says.

"Safety is an illusion."

"How long has it been since you were honest with all those around you?"

"Honesty is a lie."

"I wanted to offer you--both of you--positions as teachers at the school. We lack experience with living under siege. You have it."

"I want to stay," Duncan says.

"Your choice." Methos looks at the ground.

Duncan pulls him back into his arms. He kisses the back of Methos's head and sways them both together. "You never used to be afraid," he says softly.

"I was always afraid." But he leans back into Duncan's body and touches his cheek to Duncan's mouth. "I want to be boring again. I want to be dull. What happened to the bookstore?"

"All the books are in storage. I'm not good at retail."

"Have I told you how I lost the use of my legs?" Xavier asks. His voice is soft, gentle. His nature is iron. He reminds Methos of kings that he has known, true kings, leaders of men. He reminds Methos of Darius. "It was the first battle between mutants and ordinary humans in a war that is much older than all but a very few know. I've protected generations of young mutants for over forty years, but there are too many now, too visible, and I am growing old. Who better than immortals to carry on my work?"

Methos has five thousand years on this man but they are in the same place, he thinks, old men finding that the future is out of their hands. Methos remembers the black, black nights before human lights filled the world. He remembers lying on the scorched sand after his first quickening, staring at the sea, feeling like a fifth element, exotic and new. He remembers how vast the world had seemed before he walked every mile of it.

"I'm staying," Duncan says. His arms hold Methos but are not a prison. He loves this man, and he will die young, never see a thousand, Methos knows; he can smell it on him.

"I haven't said no yet," Methos says finally.

Methos spends the rest of the day walking in the woods. It's a very long walk until he reaches the edge of the property, marked by a stone wall studded with "NO TRESPASSING" signs. He climbs to the top of the wall and looks over the tract housing and scrub land beyond. If he keeps going... Canada, and him with no papers, no money, nowhere to stay and nothing to do. He had backup stashes but that was always a pain. And always, always, always, people would be after his head. There are enemies everywhere, not just Immortal any more, not _detectable_ any more, and he's six years behind.

When was the last time someone apologized for trying to kill him?

He turns around. The next morning, he kisses Narantuyaa on the forehead. "I forgive you, Granddaughter," he says.


	13. Community.

"People are missing," Joe says. "Took me a while to sort out, but you remember Steven Keane? Warren Cochrane, too. So--fewer young Immortals, missing older Immortals. I don't know what it means."

"I think we're turning into mutants. The young ones, I mean. Maybe our Quickenings get...spread around." Duncan rubs his forehead. "Not really my area. I miss Darius."

"I don't bet Methos is a help."

"Not a philosopher, no." Duncan sighs. "Narantuyaa found out. She started to attack him, but Xavier stopped her. This might be the answer to the Game."

"One man?"

"Mutants. Us. Community. A culture that doesn't involve constantly trying to kill each other. You don't know how badly I want this."

"I do know, MacLeod," Joe says.

*

Methos puts off his decision but finds himself frequently in the stables, teaching the children to ride. Duncan takes over the history lecture, leaving Xavier to physics and philosophy. The kids are smart. He loves it.

Ororo teaches literature and writing, Scott teaches math, Kurt teaches music and art, Logan teaches the kids hand to hand and how to drive a car, and Narantuyaa covers the easy job of sport.

They all mentor use of powers as the need arises. Ororo tutors Siryn with her voice, Xavier tutors the psychics, Narantuyaa teaches Kitty to fight hand-to-hand with her phase-shifting powers. Methos helps Peter find out exactly how strong his steel skin is (he can be cut by adamantium, but when Methos punches him in the arm, he breaks his hand; Jean-Paul laughs when Methos swears in pain, earning himself bathroom-cleaning duty).

Xavier doesn't forbid Methos teaching some of the kids to shoot, but he doesn't encourage it either.

"I want lessons," Marrow says, sitting next to Methos on the TV room couch. He's watching American Idol. Quentin sits in his favorite chair across from him. Sam and Siryn sit on the floor in front of the TV, waiting for Dazzler's appearance. They're big fans.

"Latin lessons?" he asks.

"Shooting lessons. I'm a glare," she says.

Methos attempts to parse that. "I'm sorry?"

"An obvious mutant. God, you guys are out of touch. Him, her, him, you, you all pass. Wagner glares, McCoy glares, I glare. Got it? So I need to be able to protect myself."

"Certainly," Methos says.

"I want to learn as well," Quentin says.

Methos shakes his head. "You're too young, Quentin. You won't be able to hold onto it. Ask me in five years."

Quentin scowls. There's a smell of ozone and the TV and both lamps switch off. "HEY!" Sam and Siryn protest.

"We voted!" Sam cries.

"Sorry." Quentin blinks and the TV and lamps switch back on.

"Go watch the other TV," Siryn says.

"I like this TV," Quentin says. He sits cross-legged and watches intently. It's almost time for Dazzler's performance.

Marrow doesn't watch the TV. "You're really five thousand years old?"

"Five and a bit."

"My mutation is going to kill me young." She stares through him, fiercely angry for a moment. "Eventually my skeleton will cover my whole body and choke me. But it's better than being _normal_. What do you think?"

It's very clearly a question with a right answer and a wrong answer, and he is going to be graded on a very steep curve. "I don't believe in normal or abnormal," Methos says. "Normality is a moving target."

Marrow frowns. Wrong answer. Methos supposes the right answer was loud appreciation for difference, but he's not the man to give it. "Orthogonal," she spits out. She hauls herself up on her crutches.

"I'll be happy to teach you to shoot," Methos says.

She pauses. "Tomorrow daylight."

"Certainly."

She crutches out. She has an agility born of experience. The bulky cast on her leg barely weighs her down.

"Dazzler, Dazzler!" Siryn plugs her code into her cell phone. So does Sam. "Come on, Adam!"

"Yes, I'm getting it!" Methos fishes his phone out of his pocket. Dazzler sings "Hounds of Love." They all watch closely.

"Adam?" MacLeod thunders down the stairs.

"Shh!"

"Oh, her again." MacLeod comes up behind him and kisses his neck. "I'm jealous," MacLeod whispers.

Methos leans forward. "Shh!"

"Look at her makeup!" Siryn squeaks.

"Look at her cleavage," MacLeod says under his breath.

"MacLeod!" Methos slides off the couch onto the floor with the children, who know how to properly pay attention.

"They always give her the coolest special effects. The show likes her best too," Sam says.

Dazzler finishes her song and Methos stands back up, glaring at MacLeod. " _Now_ I will entertain you. All right?"

"Ecstatic." Ah, it's time for pouting. Methos rolls his eyes and sits next to him, tucking his arm behind MacLeod's waist. "Have you seen my phone?" MacLeod asks.

"Yes." Methos pulls it out of his other pocket.

"No," MacLeod says.

"Yes." He's ambidextrous enough to text with both hands.

"No, I am not letting you use my phone!"

"Yes, you are." MacLeod makes a grab for the phone and Methos holds it at arm's length. Sam giggles.

"Methos!" MacLeod grabs him around the waist and hauls him onto his lap and takes back his phone. Methos eyes him under his lashes. "I'm taking a stand. It ends here. No American Idol on my phone," MacLeod says.

Xavier wheels in, a cup of tea balanced in his lap. "Everything all right?"

"Slight difference of opinion," Methos says.

"Slight case of thievery," MacLeod says.

"I see." Xavier slots in between couch and chair neatly. He watches the end of American Idol with apparent interest.

Peter wanders through the TV lounge looking delighted and drunk. Jean-Paul follows as self-satisfied as a tomcat who brought down a deer. Peter sits in the other armchair with only a few false starts and Jean-Paul folds into his lap. Xavier raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. "Turn it to CSI: New Orleans when this is done," Jean-Paul says.

"Planet Money. Already called it," Quentin says.

"Planet Money is seconded," Xavier says.

Jean-Paul pokes Peter, who is looking into the middle distance, focusing on nothing. "Peter. Peter! Second me!"

Peter blinks. "What?" He grins broadly.

"Second me, you dolt!" Jean-Paul smacks him on the forehead. "Adam, second me! It has Francis Capra!"

"Adam, almost time for voting!" Sam and Siryn are poised with their finger on the trigger.

"Sorry, Jean-Paul, I'm done with TV for the night." Methos enters Dazzler's number.

"Go!" Siryn yells. Quentin changes the channel to Planet Money. Jean-Paul mutters obscene Quebeçois curses and pinches Peter's ear. Peter doesn't stop smiling.

Methos grabs MacLeod's phone, twists his hips, and takes off running. "Hey!" MacLeod yells, but Methos has already made it to the stairs. Sam shouts and zips up and down the stairs beside him, almost invisible at super speed. Methos texts Dazzler's number with both hands as fast as he can.

Either on accident or on purpose, Sam trips MacLeod and MacLeod falls heavily in the landing. "Sam!" Xavier calls.

"I'm all right. I'm coming for you, old man!" MacLeod bellows. Methos is on the second floor and gaining.

"'Scuse me," he gasps, brushing past Kurt.

"Why are you running? What is wrong?"

"Nothing in the world is wrong!" Methos says, meaning it. He makes it up to MacLeod's room and collapses across the bed, catching his breath, texting with both hands.

MacLeod enters the room mussed and panting. "Scoundrel," he says.

Methos rolls onto his stomach with his elbows under him and continues texting until MacLeod grabs the phone away from him. His weight settles on Methos and he bites his ear.

"I think you fit in well here. You're juvenile enough," MacLeod says.

He does like it here, but he's not admitting it. Not until the time is right. For now, he stretches out, helping MacLeod burrow through his clothes.


	14. Holiday.

*

December. Methos dislikes December. It's a month of expectation, waiting, wanting. It's Duncan's birthday and the man is impossible to shop for.

Most of the school goes home for Christmas. Siryn stays, because her father--a member of Interpol--is on a case. She tries to hide how disappointed she is. That's the reason she goes by her code name at the school, because of her father's work. It's safer. Bobby stays, because he and his family still aren't speaking. Rogue stays for the same reason. They play endless games of foosball in the lounge. Scott drives Sam down to West Virginia; he needs a vacation as well. Jubilee is an orphan, but she goes home with Dani. Quentin and Artie are orphans and stay.

Methos is celebrating Hanukkah, rather than Christmas, with Kitty and Artie. He's nearly as old as the Hebrew calendar. It fits him better than more modern religions. He grew up worshipping the sea--he's fairly certain he remembers this, though he might have read it instead--and worshipping anything so abstract as a god has never really worked for him. Ceremonies, though. He's all for ceremonies to celebrate the turning of the year.

He feels a little homesick, or maybe the term is nostalgic. Methos has found an old recipe. It used to be his favorite dish in the world, but he hasn't made it in... a long time. Rose hips, veal stock, eggs--better count them again. Straw wine, olive oil. Calf's brains. Piles of pepper. Salt.

Back in the day, he had to grind it all with mortar and pestle, but now he has a food processor. He grinds the rose hips and stock first, then the brains and pepper, then the eggs and wine. He combines them together and bakes, after some thought, in the classic water bath manner. Last time he made this, he was still baking in an iron pot covered in hot ashes. It worked, but an electronically controlled oven is far superior. He settles in with a glass of straw wine and two years of the Economist back issues to wait for the custard to cook. He's still catching up on what he missed.

Logan drifts in halfway through the baking. He leans down, sniffs the oven, and gives Methos a long, suspicious look. "Have some wine?" Methos offers.

"Sure. But I'm not touching whatever the hell is in the oven," he says.

Methos pours with a slight smile.

Logan sniffs it and then tastes. "Sweet. Really sweet."

"Straw wine. Think of it as dessert."

"Usually I think of alcohol as beer," Logan says.

"Did you ever have--well, I suppose you wouldn't. In Egypt, back in the day, we drank beer so thick you could chew it. It was a meal by itself. I should make some, sometime, if the Professor wouldn't mind."

Logan points with his wine glass. "Educational." Methos raises his glass and touches it to Logan's.

"Logan?" Narantuyaa calls from the lounge.

"Yeah," Logan says. Naraa ducks in. She looks at Methos for a moment, then bends down and sniffs the oven.

"There's enough to share. It will be a few minutes, I think." Methos sets his wine down. When he crosses to the oven, Naraa rests her hand on the countertop, but doesn't move. Methos bends down beside her and opens the oven to jiggle the pan. "Not too long. Have some wine?" As he straightens up, he's exquisitely aware of the distance between his neck and the blades in her hands. So, he's sure, is she.

But they're trying something new here. That boy at the table says he feels no urge to kill. That means it's learned, and it can be unlearned.

Probably.

Methos pours the wine. He shakes the bottle, examines the sediment against the light, then shrugs and empties it into his own glass. Waste not, want not.

"Did you hear the news? That singer, Dazzler, she's a mutant. Sam told me and then Siryn told me and then Rogue told me," Naraa says.

"They told me, too. They always knew, naturally."

Naraa holds the wine up to the light. "I like this. Modern wine is so dry."

"I'm making a Roman dish. This is how the Romans drank it."

"Before my time. Tell me, grandfather, were you one of the emperors?" She smiles with half her mouth. "Whenever I meet an old one, they always tell me about the times they were king."

"I was never a king, nor even a Roman citizen. I was--well." He's not sure if he wants to tell this story. He stands up and checks the custard. "Oh, all done," he says, and pulls it out.

The custard has a lovely golden color from the eggs and rose hips. He waves a hand over the dish, letting it rest for a moment. "There are tastes that don't exist in this modern world," Naraa says. "And tastes from childhood. Mare's milk from the teat, did you have that when you were young?"

"Oh, yes. Horses and dogs were my friends when no man was."

"The water... I miss the water. Wild water." Naraa sighs.

"Come on," Logan says. "Wild water?"

"You don't know, boy. You've only had trapped and boiled and filtered water. How can that bring you back to the earth our mother?"

Methos knows. The days are past when you can cup your hands in a stream and drink the water and taste the earth; now it tastes of asphalt and chlorine. "There are still places. I walked across Siberia to Tibet a few years ago. Up in the mountains, where the earth touches the sky, you can still find that water."

"Is this part of the crazy Immortal religion?" Logan asks.

"No, this is old people talking about how much better things used to be," Methos says. "Do you want some custard?"

"Oh, yes, please," Naraa says. Logan narrows his eyes. Methos dishes up a bowl for Naraa, sets the pepper on the table, and raises an eyebrow at Logan.

"What exactly is in there?"

"Wine," Methos says. "Rose hips. Pepper. Eggs."

"And?"

"Calf brains."

"I knew it," Naraa says. She takes a small bite and sighs, savoring it.

"BRAINS?" Logan bellows. "Are you shitting me?"

"Oh!" A voice from the lounge. Rogue runs in, Bobby following her doubtfully. She widens her eyes and makes a begging motion with her hands.

"You want to try?" Methos asks in disbelief.

"My granny made brains and eggs with gravy. It was the best! You're chicken, Logan. I'll have his."

Methos serves Rogue and himself. The custard is rich, tart, and spicy, with a slight sweetness from the wine. Logan stares at them all. "Oh, wow," Rogue says.

"So you weren't an emperor," Naraa says. "Were you a cook?"

"My wife was. She'd make this for feasts and save me the leftovers. Better fresh," he says. But he has a flash of his wife running down the steps, the bowl secreted in her apron; both of them crowded into an alcove, stealing bites from her wooden spoon. Good that way too, him and his love and a secret luxury.

"Is that safe?" Bobby asks. "Don't you get Creutzfeld-Jakob disease from eating brains?"

"Yes," Methos says. "One of the few diseases we're susceptible to, in fact."

"So why would you do that?"

"It's delicious," Rogue says.

"That's enough?"

"Yeah, dummy!"

Logan sighs. He stands and dishes himself some custard.

"Ave, Iceman, morituri te salutant," Methos says. Naraa laughs.


	15. Racism.

Duncan stands in line, watching the mutant sitting with the bank manager in her office. The room is soundproofed but the body language is blatant; she doesn't like him, she's nervous, she's slightly afraid. The mutant is agitated, but restrained. He leans forward, picking up some papers in his scaly fingers. Looks like paycheck stubs. He points, but she shakes her head.

The security guard walks over to the office. He opens the door. "Is there a problem, Sharon?"

"I think it's time for Mr. Wilkes to leave the bank. With his scales. And don't forget your papers, sir."

"Lady, there is no call to be a bitch," the mutant says. The security guard puts his hand on his taser. "I'm going, man. Chill." He stalks out, stuffing his pay stubs into his jacket pocket.

He drops one. Duncan picks it up while everyone else is watching the scaly man leave.

"Next?"

Duncan steps up to the window. He crumples his deposit slip and sticks it in his pocket. "I'd like to close my account," he says. "All my accounts."

The cashier nods professionally and asks, "Yes, sir. May I have your account information?"

Duncan hands her his card. Her mouth drops open when she sees his information on the computer. "Oh--okay--oh my god--let me just get my manager. I need approval to handle this much."

The cashier consults Sharon. Sharon steps up to the counter and says, "Mr. MacLeod, I'm sorry to hear that you're unhappy with our bank. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really. I'm a mutant," he says, loud enough that his voice rings around the large room. The line of people waiting to use the ATM look up. "I'm not very happy with how you treat my kind. I'll take my money in cash."

Sharon flushes.

"I'll wait," Duncan says. He takes a seat in the chairs in the middle of the room. A couple of people at the ATM give him a long, hard, look. Duncan remembers sitting at segregated lunch counters with his dark-skinned friends a human lifetime ago; he remembers a police round-up of a lavender bar two lifetimes ago; he remembers the death of his adopted tribe at the hand of American settlers, the blood staining his hands, and he stares right back.

In the end they can only give him $10,000 in cash. The rest is in a cashier's check. But it's enough to make a nice, heavy, point-making bundle in his shoulder bag as he walks out of the bank.

He consults the scaly mutant's pay stub and hails a cab. He's going to find the man. "Buddy, that's over in M-Town, you don't want to go there," the first cabbie says.

"I am a mutant, buddy," Duncan says, and hails another. The second cab takes him.

The scaly mutant--Joseph Wilkes--lives in a part of the city that's rapidly starting to show decay. Next to Wilkes's apartment building is a newly closed clothing store and a newly opened tattoo parlor. A side door in a vacant storefront has been jimmied and Duncan is pretty sure homeless people are camped inside. The lost dog fliers are old; the drug treatment fliers are new. There's no doorman and the lock doesn't work on the front door of the apartment building, so Duncan just walks in.

One in three of the hall lights is burned out. The carpet is decent, but hasn't been cleaned in a while. Duncan finds 2C and knocks.

Flicker of shadow under the door before Wilkes opens it a crack. The chain on the door is thick. "Hello?"

"Hi. You don't know me, but I saw you at the bank earlier. You dropped this," Duncan says, handing him the pay stub.

"Uh, thanks, man."

"I'm a mutant too," Duncan says.

Wilkes snorts. "Must be nice to have to tell people that."

"I wanted to make a business proposition," Duncan says. "You were there for a loan, right? It happens that I just withdrew all my money from that account. Does five percent per annum sound fair?"

Wilkes looks him up and down; his eyes widen, he shuts the door quickly, and takes off the chain. "Shit, come in! Is that a goddamn bag of money?" he hisses.

Duncan comes in. Wilkes's apartment is nicely furnished and clean, if small like all New York City flats. It's marred by a sour smell from the fridge, which is standing open and dead in the middle of the kitchen area. Duncan introduces himself.

"What the fuck are you doing with a bag of money in M-Town?"

"Believe me--I can take care of myself."

"Crazy," Wilkes says. "Well, look, I need a grand for a new fridge. This piece of shit just kicked the bucket. I can pay back a loan, just not right away, and I don't have a credit card."

"Shouldn't your landlord take care of that?"

"Yeah, they _should_. But Rosita downstairs, hers went ten months ago, and she's still keeping her milk in a cooler full of ice. I got a kid. I can't do that." Wilkes rubs the short horns on his forehead.

"Hmm," Duncan says. "Do you have some paper? We'll draw up a contract." He takes a stack of hundred-dollar bills out of his bag.

"Holy shit, you are some kind of crazy," Wilkes says, but he finds a sheet of paper and a pen.

*

Duncan pounds the heavy bag. Logan walks in, raises his eyebrows, and retreats.

People. Bigoted--closed--privileged--he punches the bag, breath hissing through his teeth. Normally he'd exercise in a series of kata, but right now he needs something more primal.

His hands hurt. He steps back, kicks the bag, front of the foot, heel, knee. Other leg. The chain rattles against the ceiling, strain on the bolts. He wouldn't mind breaking it right off.

He's exhausted. He bends over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. "I gather your errands were not entirely successful," Xavier says.

"Differently successful," Duncan says. "I bought a building. Do you know any good apartment managers?" He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling the sweat trickle down his spine.

He remembers Harlem, too. If the rest of the world doesn't want mutants, they can make their own, better world. He's already ordered new refrigerators.


	16. Baby.

Duncan awakes to the buzz of Presence in his head. New Presence, that is. He's so used to Methos's buzz that it feels like a comfortable bathrobe, and even the foreign feel of Logan and Narantuyaa quickly fades.

"You answer the door, I'll be on the balcony," Methos says. He pulls his gun from under his pillow.

Scott is coming down the stairs as Duncan softly closes the door behind him. "Adam is covering us from the balcony," Duncan says.

Scott nods. "Professor too," he says, tapping his head.

They hear the motorcycle idling when they open the front door. "--are you sure? I don't know, I feel weird. We should scram, camp out."

Two figures, one sitting on the bike, one standing beside it. Duncan flips on the light. "Good morning," he says. It's five AM.

"We heard this was a safe place for mutants," the seated figure says. It's a teenage girl. She must be the Immortal, because the teenaged boy standing beside her has broad, white, angelic wings.

"You heard right," Scott replies. "Come on in. I think there's a crib in the attic."

Duncan blinks; it's a non sequitur until the girl turns off the engine, rolling the bike forward a foot or so, and Duncan can see the capsule that she's towing. It holds a baby.

*

The house is waking up. Ororo and Logan come down first, then Hank comes up from the basement. They all stand around uncomfortably as Methos holds the baby. "Honestly. Like you've never seen a kid before," Methos says. He snaps his fingers and dispatches Scott to the attic for clothes and crib and Hank back to the basement for diapering supplies and a fluid IV.

The girl's name is Hero, she says; she's African-American, seventeen years old, short and rounded in frame. The boy's name is Angel; he's sixteen, white, and frail-looking. They're both exhausted and distressed, but she's wearing thick black motorcycle leathers and he's wearing fine Italian loafers, mismatched with cheap, dirty jeans and t-shirt and a polyester jacket slit up the back for his wings. Duncan takes them to the kitchen and dishes them both up leftover chili for a start.

"I don't know what the baby eats," Hero says before she even looks at the bowl. "I can't figure it out. I tried all those little jars but she just pukes and cries. That's why we're here, I can't--" She looks dazed, nearly panicked.

"It's all right," Methos says. "I've fed more babies than you can shake a stick at. I'll figure it out." The girl watches anxiously, ignoring the food in front of her.

The baby doesn't look entirely human. She has gills, first clue, though she can clearly breathe in air. Her skin is a blue-tinted white and her eyes are huge, bulbous, and pink. She looks old enough to talk, actually. "Let's try you on fish," Methos says to her. "Gills are usually a clue."

There's a slab of sushi-grade tuna in the freezer that Duncan was saving for a treat. Methos has him hack off a few fragments and Methos defrosts them in his mouth.

"Her mama--" Her voice shakes. "I was in the emergency room, and her mama brought her in, she was sitting beside me, the baby wouldn't stop crying, and her mama says her milk dried up and baby won't eat, baby's all wrong, baby's an abomination. And she--" Her voice cuts out. Angel touches her wrist. "She stabbed herself in the neck. Bled all over the baby. I picked her up and ran, because--we have to stick together. Mutants. Gotta. But I can't feed her either."

The baby is listless, clearly unwell. Methos supports her head and feeds her a fragment of fish from his mouth and she takes it.

They watch her. She mouths it, moving it around, and then swallows. Methos tries again, and she takes it a little faster. "Muh," she says. She grabs Methos's chin.

"Here it is, we'll get some nutrition into her yet." Hank bustles into the room with an IV kit.

"Mmf! She likes the fish, she's trying to bite my tongue. I need that, nibbler. You hook her up and I'll distract her," Methos says, easing the baby out of her sleeve. Her veins are very, very blue. She's terribly ugly. Methos can't stop looking at her.

Hero quietly passes out on the table. Angel hovers over her, his wings shielding them both from view.

*

They set up the crib in the lounge. Xavier has had time to dress and come downstairs. "An infant," he says. He doesn't sound happy.

"A two-year-old, actually," Hank says. He's still pushing nutrients into her arm. She's tugging on Methos's mouth, blinking her big pearl-pink eyes. She has a third eyelid, which closes from the outside in. It's black. It makes her eyes even more arresting.

"No more fish," Methos says. "No. No more. Got to see if you're going to throw up first, nibbler."

"We don't have the facilities." Xavier rubs his chin gravely.

"I'll take her. MacLeod, you can run up a birth certificate, can't you? What's Amanda's current alias? Put her as the mother." Methos smiles at the baby. "I'll dun her for child support."

"We cannot steal this child away from her mother. We are not above the law."

Methos looks at Xavier. He cuddles the baby up under his jaw and says nothing.

*

"My name is Monica, but--Angel calls me Hero," Monica tells Duncan. She's rested, fed, and freshly clothed. "Mutant name, right?"

Monica takes the news about her Immortality like it's yesterday's headline. "Yeah, I figured most of that out already. My foster brother, he's all kinds of crazy, he stabbed me and that's when I figured it was time to go. That was three years ago. I'm doing all right."

"It's a nice bike," Duncan says.

"I get work as a messenger. Packages and stuff."

Drugs, Duncan thinks, as she turns away with her cigarette, but he doesn't have a problem with that. He remembers when heroin was a wonder drug. "And him?"

They both look up. Angel flew up to the roof as soon as he woke up. He's pacing back and forth, wings outstretched. "He's got some problems, but he's all right," Monica says. "His daddy kept him locked inside his whole life. All he knows about anything is through TV and the computer. He ran off when his daddy started talking about having his wings cut off. Flying's the only thing really makes him happy, see?"

"Oh, I understand. How did you meet him?"

"He was getting his butt kicked by some assholes. Us mutants gotta stick together."

Duncan smiles. "That we do."

They watch Angel settle in with his back to a chimney. His wings are remarkably flexible. Monica finishes her cigarette and stubs it out on the sole of her boot. "Do you think he's going to come down today?" Duncan asks.

"Beats me."

Methos comes out of the house with the sleeping toddler in his arms and a baby bottle full of water in his cargo pant pocket. "She likes fish," he says. "Also fish. And fish. Her tummy's full to bursting." He rubs her back lovingly.

Monica sighs. "Thank you," she says.

"You're just full of hidden depths, aren't you, old man?" Duncan says. Methos rolls his eyes at him.

Monica stands back and cups her hands around her mouth. "Hey Angel! Come see Little Blue!"

Angel shakes his head.

"Stop being an asshole!"

Angel jumps up and starts pacing back and forth again.

"I thought you said you fought crime with Daredevil! Can't even come down and say hi to a schoolteacher?"

Angel leaps off the roof. He flaps up and around them, Monica turning to watch him, but he veers off and flies to the top of the stable. He flops down on the roof there, turning his face away from Monica.

"Well go fuck yourself!" Monica yells. Duncan ducks away, wincing. "Sorry," she says.

"Is Daredevil the one with rocket boots?" Methos asks.

They both turn and stare at him. "No," Monica says.

"I've been catching up!" he exclaims. "I'm just not... _caught_ up."

*

Wikipedia answers the question. Methos settles the baby against the arm of the big leather chair and types one-handed so that he doesn't have to let go. "Daredevil. Category, vigilante. Location, New York City. Nice outfit." The "best verified photo" is a rear shot showing nothing much more than a tight red leather suit. "Accused of murder... twice."

"Take that with a grain of salt. They accuse all the costumed heroes of murder so they have an excuse to arrest them on sight."

"They?"

"The Man," Duncan says.

"Right." Methos clicks through to the master list of costumed heroes. "I have heard of Spider-Man. Nice picture."

"Great, you've heard of Spider-Man. Have you heard of the president?"

"Abraham Lincoln. I voted for him twice."

Duncan laughs. Methos clicks and reads. "Fantastic Four..."

"I'm not so sure about them. They say they're independent but somehow, they always end up working for the government. Seems like a mutant Halliburton to me."

"When did you become such an anarchist?"

"Since my best friend was abducted by American soldiers," Duncan says. He runs his finger along Methos's jaw tenderly. "I believe in people. In justice. Not in structures. I thought you knew me better than that."

If he parts his lips, Duncan will kiss him. He does, and Duncan does. "There's always more to learn."

He turns back to the computer. "Look. Power Man and Iron Fist, heroes for hire. They have a website. This is legal?"

"It's not illegal to be a mutant yet."

Methos clicks on "unconfirmed reports of costumed heroes in the New York City area." "Giant green man seen swimming off the Tappan Zee Bridge?"

"Probably a sewer alligator."

"Viking god seen among environmental protesters..."

"Leather man," Duncan says.

Xavier wheels into the computer room. "I can personally vouch that Thor is quite real. His godhead, however, is open to debate. How is our newest student?"

"She ate, she slept, she ate, she slept, she ate, I changed her diapers, and now she's sleeping again."

"I confess we've never had such a young charge," Xavier says. He wheels in next to Methos and peers at the baby. Methos dressed her in very old-fashioned blue trousers, an eyelet cotton blouse, and a pink sweater, all found in storage in the attic. They might have been there since the 1950s or before.

"Nothing to it, really. Like riding a bike."

The children are starting to stir. Scott is in the kitchen making breakfast.

"What I'm curious about is this report," Duncan says, pointing at the screen. "A group dressed all in black, both men and women, with mutant powers. No known base and no identifiable pattern except that they definitely live somewhere near New York." He looks at Xavier.

"Interesting," Xavier says.

"It seems almost like a group of mutants are fighting back."

Xavier raises both his eyebrows.

"I told you that he'd never leave," Methos says.

"I think it's high time we showed you what else is in the basement," Xavier says.


	17. Mask.

Costumes. Methos had seen the plane already, but not the outfits.

"We call the group the X-Men." Xavier smiles. "I'm afraid 'X-Persons' doesn't have the same flow. Expedience rules so often."

Methos rocks the baby slowly, absently.

"And you protect mutants?" Duncan asks.

"We protect the general public. Last year, we stopped Magneto's attack at the Statue of Liberty. You heard of the incident, I'm sure, though our involvement was kept quiet. The year before that, we contained the Juggernaut until the police could arrive. There are a hundred smaller operations besides. We rescue mutants when we can. We combat those who are determined not to live by the rules of civil society. Finally, if the worst happens--and I pray it will not--we will be the first line of defense for mutant-kind against the rest of the world."

"I want in," Duncan says without a moment's hesitation.

"I am shocked and amazed," Methos mutters.

"You can do what you like. I love you, but you know me. I can't say no. I want in. I want to teach. I want a costume. Sign me up."

"Put a kilt on his," Methos says. "He's never fully comfortable in trousers. Oh--baby needs a new nappy." He walks out.

*

Methos is becoming quite handy with disposable nappies. "Shh, sweetie, settle down," he hums to the baby, jiggling her on his shoulder.

"Fssh," the baby says. She gnaws on the hood of his sweatshirt.

"You know me," Duncan says.

"Of course I do." Methos pokes a finger into her mouth to check how many teeth she has. "Did I tell you not to do it?"

"Your face says what your mouth won't."

"When have I been shy about my opinions, MacLeod?" Methos turns and raises both eyebrows. "Do it. It will make you happy. I think you should wear a domino mask and a cape like Zorro."

"Don't make fun. These are our children!"

"Shh!" The girl fusses against his chest.

"These are our children," Duncan hisses, more softly. "Even the professor. The children of our tribe. We have a responsibility to them."

"What are you trying to convince me of, exactly?" Methos asks.

Duncan frowns. "To stay with me, here at the school."

"MacLeod." Methos closes with him, hooks his free arm around his neck, nuzzles into Duncan's cheek. "I just fell in love with a mutant baby, you numpty. Of course I'm staying. Look at her."

*

Methos makes a sandwich with the baby in a sling on his hip. "You haven't put her down in three days, grandfather," Naraa says.

"If I do, they might spirit her away. Xavier isn't thrilled." Not thrilled, but he still claimed her, took her in. The child's mother is dead. Xavier knows the system inside and out. He's the official guardian for half a dozen young mutants.

"They wouldn't do that."

Methos shrugs.

"You're paranoid, grandfather."

Methos raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. I apologize! Hang onto the baby until your arms drop off," Naraa says.

"Just until the adoption comes through." Methos fishes pickles out of the jar with a fork, then takes his sandwich to the table. Naraa follows, looking at the baby.

"She's ugly," Naraa says.

Methos nods and takes a bite. Baby's skin has flushed up bluer now that she's feeling better. Her eyes are a bright, piercing pink. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are thick and orange but she doesn't seem to have any hair on her head or body, not even the normal fine down of a girl's skin. She looks garish and strange.

"Can you keep cover long enough to be her daddy?"

Methos shrugs. "What cover? The others know who I am. I've charmed the hunter of hunters into my bed. I'm safe as houses."

"You think like a woman."

"Do I? Is that an insult?"

"You lure MacLeod with your weakness," Naraa says. "You show him vulnerability so that he wants to protect you. You hide that your strength is actually greater than his so you have the advantage over him as well as the enemy. It's a ploy I never wanted any part of, not when I was mortal, not now, not ever."

Methos shrugs again and eats his sandwich. He brushes a crumb off baby's head and munches on a pickle, looking right back at Narantuyaa calmly.

"And you're five thousand years old. Who's next oldest?" she asks.

"I have no idea."

"How different is living now from living then?"

"Utterly. The only similarity is that we are humans and we live together in groups."

"I'm a loner," Naraa says.

"Well," Methos says, "you're still young." He finishes his sandwich.

"I'm seeing that." There's no hostility in her tone, no anger. She examines him like a foreign type of animal. "I never wanted children," she says. "And you want this baby like you want air. I'm trying to understand you, grandfather."

"The Immortal world isn't real." Methos rolls crumbs around on his plate, crushing them into the pickle juice with his finger. "The Game is based on nothing. Fairy tales and lies, just stories, passed down from teacher to student in a millennia-long game of Telephone. And if the Game is false, our entire culture is false. We didn't have the game four thousand years ago, I can tell you that. There were no rules. Nobody ever heard of the Prize at the end. It's false. But mortal life is real. Raising a child to be Mozart or Madame Curie--it matters in a way that the Game sure as hell does not. So I can spare her a lifetime and be her father," Methos says. "And for that small amount of time, I'll be real too."

He stands up and washes his plate.

He glances back before he leaves the room. Naraa has her folded hands pressed to her mouth. She is thinking.

"Or I could be wrong," Methos says.

Her mouth quirks. He leaves her there.


	18. Trousers.

A week later, Duncan has his costume. Methos takes one look at Duncan's arse in a black leather jumpsuit and can't spare any other looks for the rest of him. "Adam, you're staring," Duncan says.

Scott snorts. He's checking the fit, making sure Duncan can move properly. "No hanky-panky in the uniform. They're a bitch to clean."

"Going to give me a striptease, MacLeod?" Methos purrs.

Duncan stretches out and tries a kata. The crotch rips out. "Apparently I am," he says, tugging at his skivvies through the breach.

Scott laughs under his breath. "Yeah, that happened to Wolverine, too."

"Maybe a little bigger in the trousers."

"No, no bigger. Move less, MacLeod," Methos says.

Duncan rolls his eyes. "Shoo. Shoo. Go on already." He picks up his sword--the scabbard is being incorporated into the uniform--and smacks Methos on the arse. "Get, you old pervert." Scott laughs a little louder.

So Methos waits for Duncan in his room. Naked. When Duncan returns, Methos has a book of Shakespeare open on his lap. He smiles coquettishly.

"Never change," Duncan says, propping his sword by the door.

Methos stands and winds his arms around Duncan's neck. Duncan slides his hands down Methos's naked back, lingering on his arse. Methos pulls him across the room by his neck and shoves him down onto the bed. "Oh sir," he coos. "You saved me. However can I repay you?"

Duncan grins. "You love this."

"Do you have any idea how edible your arse is in those pants?"

Duncan grins wider. Methos pops his buttons and rips open his shirt. "Oh, Highlander, your powers are more than I can comprehend," he purrs.

"Is the door locked? Don't want the kids getting that much education."

Methos gets up and checks; it is, and Duncan's room has thick walls, so as long as Methos doesn't make him scream, they're just fine. Methos's room is downstairs and unlocked so that the others can check on the sleeping baby. When Methos looks back, Duncan is stepping out of his shoes and kicking off his pants.

Methos shoves him back onto the bed again and Duncan laughs. "What are you going to do with me?" Duncan asks. Methos answers by grabbing his thigh and turning him over onto his face. "Ooh, good so far."

Duncan has the most glorious, hard, round, muscular arse. "Give me your hands," Methos says, and Duncan puts one arm and then the other behind his back so that Methos can strip off his shirt.

Clothed, Duncan is always a bit too big, too bulky, the elbows of his shirts brushing the walls. Nude, he looks like Hercules. "I should carve you in marble some day," Methos says. He runs his hands up and down Duncan's back.

"You did that too?"

"I'm no great master, but sure. Masonry is good solid regular work. Your curves are classical," Methos says, leaning down to suck kisses into the small of Duncan's back.

"You're complimenting me... that usually means you're planning something. Now I'm scared." Duncan shifts, curling his arm around his head and looking over his shoulder at Methos. "What's in your head?"

Methos rolls his eyes. "Talk about it later." He bites Duncan on the ass, making him grunt, and then elbows Duncan's thighs apart and mouths his balls.

"Oh, all right," Duncan says breathily. Then he doesn't say anything for a while while Methos eats him out with teeth and tongue and fingers.

When Duncan's hips are bucking against the sheets, Methos turns him over onto his back. He's beautiful. Flushed, his muscles rolling under his skin, all power except for the tender rose head of his cock. Duncan stretches an arm over his head and grabs the bedpost. Trust.

"My hero in black leather," Methos says. Duncan lifts his chin, exposing his throat.

He places his hand on Duncan's chest and leans in to lick his throat. Their cocks gently kiss against each other's bellies and Duncan inhales sharply. Methos rests his full weight on Duncan then, leading with the hot jab of his erection.

Duncan thrusts up against him like he wants to climb inside. He raises a foot, braces it against the wall, folds his arms behind Methos's back, generates some heat between them. Then it's Duncan's game and Methos rides along, panting against his throat.

It's good, always good with him. Duncan thrusts and Methos twists his hips in a lustful dance and Duncan comes first in a long shivering shudder, soft cries breaking out of his throat. "You treat all the costumed heroes that way?" Duncan asks after a moment.

"Logan no, Ororo if she let me, Kurt for the sheer perversity of breaking in a Catholic boy--"

"Jesus, you're not supposed to answer," Duncan laughs. "Come up here."

Methos scrambles up the bed and sits on Duncan's chest. "Rogue is quick and lovely, Scott has never known a male caress--" He gasps as Duncan takes his cock in his mouth. "Hank has all that delicious fur..."

Duncan lets go of his cock. "I'm getting jealous."

"No you're not." He shoves his penis back in Duncan's mouth. "Tony Stark," he says. "Mm, Tony Stark, now there's a handsome man."

Duncan mmms in response.

"Oh, but you're my hero... my own personal hero, do that again. Yes, that." Duncan has such a clever tongue. Methos grabs the bed rail and he looks down at Duncan's big brown eyes and comes in his mouth.

Then sweaty cuddling. Methos nestles his face (the right side, it used to have a tattoo, why is he thinking of this now) into the comfortable curve between Duncan's cheek and shoulder. Duncan traces his fingers up and down Methos's ribs. "I meant it about Kurt," Methos murmurs. "I'd have him in a little plaid skirt so fast..."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that for the sake of my sanity."

"His tail twitches, revealing a flash of bare blue bottom..."

Duncan covers Methos's mouth. Methos snickers and hugs him. He pulls the light blanket over their bodies.

"I'm surprised at you, taking to that little girl so fast," Duncan says. He takes his hand away from Methos's mouth.

"I make decisions about people quickly. You know that; how fast did I fall in love with Alexa? I'm a good judge of character."

"And just like that, you want to be a daddy."

"I told you, I've done it before," Methos says. "That one turned out all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I married a woman because she was seduced and ruined, poor girl. She came up pregnant and we had a little boy. In time, he took to the sea, and became Admiral Nelson."

"You liar."

Methos smiles. "He became a tobacconist. And he had a family of his own, but by then I was gone. Jane died of pneumonia and I decided it was time to make an exit."

"So what's on your mind?"

"Charles thinks it would be easier to adopt the baby as a couple instead of a single man. So... will you have a baby with me, MacLeod?" He traces his thumb across Duncan's chest from nipple to nipple.

After a shocked moment, Duncan starts laughing. "Not the usual response to a proposal of marriage," Methos says.

"You know, when Amanda bribes me with sex, it's a prelude to asking me to commit a crime. Next time she asks what you have that she hasn't got, I'll have to tell her this."

*

They marry without ceremony. Fuss seems unwarranted. But somehow, Joe finds out, and empties a bag of rose petals over their heads on the courthouse steps.


	19. Skirts.

"Duncan?" Rogue asks. "Where's Adam?"

Duncan is holding the baby. "I don't know, but when you find him, tell him we need to have words. He taught Annie to call me Mama!"

"Mama," the baby giggles. Duncan sighs and kisses her on the head.

Rogue finds Adam in the library. "Hey, Giles," she greets him.

He's repairing a book. He's taken the cover completely off and he has stacks of loose pages all over the desk. He's threading a needle as he looks up. "How can I help you, Buffy?"

"Logan told me you helped Dr. McCoy clear the adamantium out of Narantuyaa."

"I did."

"What happened to the leftover metal?"

Adam frowns. He looks up, needle wiggling between his index and forefinger. "Hank put the pieces into the autoclave. After that, I don't know. Why?"

"My friend Caterpillar--"

"The cocoon boy?"

"Yeah. They've tried everything--"

Adam points the needle at her. "Except adamantium. What a bright girl you are."

"Why thank you. I should run it by the Professor, right?"

"Absolutely."

She pauses in the doorway. "By the way, Duncan just found out you got your baby to call him Mama."

Adam smiles devilishly. "MacLeod. I was trying to teach her to say MacLeod."

"You might want to practice that in the mirror," Rogue says, and runs off to find the Professor.

Three days later, she, Scott, and Logan are flying to Texas. The Professor said her idea was intelligent and resourceful. Logan just tousled her hair. She smiles to herself through the whole flight.

*

So, Dr. Grace. She's very pretty. Logan doesn't get the same charge from her that he did from Jean (oh, Jean, he misses Jean, and Scott still hasn't smiled yet) but she's pretty.

So when she calls him down to the lab and hands him a specimen cup, it's awkward. "What exactly..." he asks, or starts to ask.

"Sperm sample," she says in her crystalline Mid-Atlantic accent.

Logan sincerely hopes he's not blushing. "Uh," he says.

Grace smiles. "We always thought immortals were infertile, but with everything else changing, why not this? And Hero, I found out, menstruates. Isn't that remarkable? I don't, I never have, and neither does any other female immortal that I know of. So I want to test your sperm. Duncan and Adam already gave me samples. I suspect you're younger than Duncan and I know Duncan is younger than Adam so we'll have a good range."

"Uh," Logan says.

Grace pats him on the shoulder. "Take your time, but get me the sample right away when you're done so I can see if there's any activity."

"Activity?"

"In your sperm. If you make any," she says, shrugging.

"Right." He looks at the cup. "I'll just." He points a thumb over his shoulder.

"No rush," she says as he leaves. "Oh, and if you ask the Professor, he has a collection of magazines confiscated from the boys' rooms!"

The door shuts behind him. He shoves the cup deep into his pocket and shudders. He's not asking the Professor for SHIT.

Apparently, though, he gets 24 hours grace from Grace. After that, Naraa walks up behind him in the gym and pinches his butt. "Don't you want to come for the doctor?" she asks.

"Not really," Logan says.

"She's pretty."

"You're prettier."

"So come for me," Naraa says. She slides her hands under his shirt and butts her head into his back.

Logan raises his eyebrows. He touches the back of her right hand; he runs a finger along the soft skin.

"I'm curious what she might find out about us," she says. "Science is amazing. She says she can do science with your sperm, I believe her. So come on." She steps back. Logan hears her crack her knuckles.

"There's cameras in here," Logan says, turning around to face her. Her hair is loose on her shoulders. She's wearing gray sweats and looks amazing.

Naraa glances up into the corners of the room. "Let's go play doctor," she says. She crooks her finger and leave the gym.

No way. She isn't. Is she? Yeah, she's going to the lab. "Naraa!" he calls, running out after her.

She keeps walking, not looking back. She opens the med lab door and walks in. He follows despite the thought of cameras, telepaths, who knows. And there's nobody else in the lab when he walks in, just Naraa sitting on the table. She toys with the zip of her sweatshirt.

Naraa fucked him once already, just shoved him into the dirt by the lake and had her way with him. He wants more. Much more. But when he makes a move, she shies away, just gives him that _look_ like he's a damn fool. He has to play her game, even if he doesn't understand it.

"Come here," Naraa says. She taps a specimen cup on her thigh.

He does. She spreads her legs as he crosses the room; he stands between them. He waits, then. Her game. She's gotta tell him the rules.

"What turns you on?" Naraa asks.

"Women," Logan says.

Naraa taps the cup against his chest.

"Strong women," Logan says. "Adult women."

"Too bad you're in a house full of schoolgirls," Naraa says.

"No regrets," Logan says.

Naraa strokes his beard with an adamantium thumbnail. She continues down his sensitive neck, strokes his collarbone, and unzips his sweatshirt. Logan twitches his shoulder and the sweatshirt drops to the floor. She scratches through the hair on his chest. He shivers when she lightly touches his nipple.

"You like women to have the upper hand. I thought at first you were patient, but you like it," she says. She pinches his nipple and twists, hard, and he breathes in sharply and god dammit, his cock jumps in his pants. She's right. Logan lurches forward and rests his hands on her thighs.

Naraa smiles. "Undress me," she says.

Don't have to tell him twice. He unzips her hoodie in a hurry. She's not wearing a shirt, nothing, and her breasts are full and perky and gorgeous, staring him in the face. She's so damn beautiful.

She leans back, stroking a knee up his hip, and he takes the cue and helps her out of her pants. No underwear. She's naked now, and Logan wonders if this is his cue to follow suit. "What turns you on?" she asks again.

"You."

Naraa snorts. "I'm not a what, I'm a who."

"The smell of women," Logan says, leaning in to inhale her skin. "Not perfume, women." She smiles. She pushes his head down, and he damn well knows that cue. Logan trails his tongue down her abdomen to her snatch.

Super-smell and super-taste are wonderful things sometimes. God damn he loves woman smell all up in his nose, surrounding him. But he hates stainless steel, and that's around him too. It's clashing, weirdly, and he tries to push the one down and attend to the other. He strokes his beard across Naraa's inner thigh, sucks her clit, licks until she arches her back and shoves down against his mouth.

When she comes, she cries out hoarsely, once, and the muscles of her snatch pulse against his mouth. Jesus, he can feel her flexing. His dick wants in so bad he can hear it talking.

Naraa sighs. She sits up, specimen cup in her hand. He's forgotten all about the cup. She wiggles her fingers. "Give me your dick," she says.

Logan surrenders to the inevitable and drops trou. Okay, could be worse. He leans on the table, one hand to either side of her and her smell all over him. His mouth is sticky.

It's like an electric shock when she touches his dick. Her hands are smooth but crushingly strong. He can't feel the metal through her palm but he knows it's there. Dammit, she's right, he likes it. He rests his head on her shoulder.

"For science," Naraa says. Logan growls and licks her throat. Her scent is all over him, her gorgeous skin is there in front of his eyes, and she's touching him, so there's no question he'll come for her. It's just incredibly weird when he feels the cup against his cockhead.

Naraa grins and snaps the top onto the cup. "Get dressed," she says, and slaps his butt as she jumps down from the table. "Logan! What a pasty white ass you have."

"Hey."

"I like it, paleface." She hands him his sweatshirt, pulls on her clothes swiftly, and goes to the intercom. "Grace!" she says. "Come on down."

Logan washes his face fast. He's still scrubbing when Grace arrives. He blushes, staring into the sink.

"Oo, nice and fresh. Well done!" Grace says. She does something with the cup and a microscope that Logan wants to know NOTHING about. "Hmm!"

She's taking notes. Logan tries to force himself to stop blushing. Dammit.

"You've got interesting swimmers, Logan," Naraa says. There's a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

"He has swimmers!" Grace exclaims. "Logan, this is amazing. Adam, he's the oldest of us all, and he has no sperm. None, blank. But Duncan, he's only four hundred years old, and he has dead sperms without tails. Dead cells, but they are present, you see? But you, Logan! Most are dead, but a few are alive! You could father a child!"

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Great," he says. He hadn't realized that was off the table in the first place.

"Oh, child, you don't know the lore," Naraa says. "We're all sterile. No immortal has ever fathered or mothered a natural child. Except, maybe, you."

"I have to test Hero. I don't know how, but I have to find a way," Grace says.

"You can cut me open and look if you want," Naraa says.

"My darling, I might take you up on that. To compare the changes over time! I am seeing evolution in the human right in front of me! Oh, I might faint," Grace says. She's smiling like the sun just came out. It makes Logan feel pretty okay.

Naraa takes both Logan's hands and kisses him. Then he feels fine.


	20. Smoke.

Methos returns to his room and finds Jean-Paul doing his homework there again. "Hold your nose," Methos says. Jean-Paul makes a face and takes his book out to the balcony while Methos changes Annie.

"You have your own room and your own desk," Methos points out. He places Annie in her crib with her plush octopus. She grabs it and chews on a tentacle.

"I like your room better, even when it smells like fish turds. Bobby is uncomfortable with me. I am English Second Language. I am homo. I am twin. Most importantly I am not his friend John. Can I not move in with Peter?" Jean-Paul asks, widening his eyes and trying his best to look innocent.

"No."

"But we are such good friends, and winter is here! We can't have sex outside and we have to sneak around the closets like too-big cockroaches."

"Absolutely not. Adversity is good for a relationship," Methos says. Jean-Paul sighs hugely and flops back on Methos's bed. "Is Bobby giving you any trouble?"

"No. Bobby would not gaybash me. If he had, you would know already, because I would punch him through the wall." He rabbit-punches the air at super speed in demonstration.

"What are you studying?"

Jean-Paul flips his hand at his book. "War of 1812. I should be proud because Canada kicks the crap out of the United States, but wars are so boring and your husband is so dreamy."

"So you come and lie on my bed to try not to think about my husband?"

Jean-Paul blinks. "Sure," he says.

"Your brain is pickled in testosterone. Go do a few laps of the lake, then come back and work on your paper in the _library_."

Jean-Paul pouts. Methos snaps his fingers in the boy's ear until he sighs and picks his books up, then leaps out the window, legs blurring at super speed to slow his descent. "Libry," Annie says.

"The library is where the books live," Methos says. He picks her up.

"Book!" She jumps up and down in his arms. "Monkey book!"

"You want to read the monkey book?"

"Read the monkey book!"

A complete sentence! "Well done, you!" Methos says.

"Monkey monkey monkey," she sings.

"Logan! Logan!" Rogue pounds up the stairs. Methos steps to the side. "Logan!"

"He's in the garage with Duncan."

Rogue is crying. "Adam," she says. She's shaking, tears dripping off her chin. "You won't believe what they did to us."

*

That's how they find out about the Sentinels, giant mutant-killing robots. Watching them on the television that cold winter day, watching the cameraphone shots of the engine roaring overhead. The laser eyes. The black smoke where a mutant used to be. The shadow moving over the ground. And when they check the blogs, they find the footage that had been held back. The lasers striking the green-skinned man. His hair catching fire, his split second scream. Kurt teleports outside to vomit into the shrubbery.

Xavier and Ororo closet themselves in the study. Scott herds all the children he can away from the TV. Narantuyaa stares at the screen and sharpens her sword. And Methos holds Annie, unable to let her go.

Every channel runs, over and over, the video: "This is the Liberation of Humanity. We do not accept that mutants are of our kind. We do not submit to their terrorist threats. We have unleashed the new freedom of humankind. You will see more and more as our forces swell. Humans have nothing to fear. Mutants have everything to fear."

Rogue punches the wall, crying out from the pain. "Why?"

Logan takes her gloved hand and holds her against his shoulder.

"I want off this planet. I want to just leave. Why can't we leave? Why can't we have our own country? Why won't they leave us alone!"

Quentin kneels on the back of the couch. "With three pounds of plutonium and a supply of adamantium I could build us a spaceship to Mars. I have all the plans. We don't need this planet at all." He holds up a pen spinning in the palm of his hand.

"Hell no!" Dani stomps her foot at him. "This is our home, too! They can cut us and burn us and bleed us but it's still our home! Don't you know anything? If you run, they chase you, until there's no place left to run, and then you're so damn tired and beat down it's too late. We stand! We're part of this planet and it's their turn to hurt!" Her voice breaks. She's crying from the sheer emotion, but she's standing up tall, firm, and strong.

"This planet is stupid," Quentin says. He slides back down the couch and watches the TV. When he blinks, the channel changes, but all the pictures tell the same story.

*

Charles leaves the email open on his screen, unable to close it.

 _Refusing to fight does not end the war. --E_

His heart is sick. The pain in his house is almost more than he can bear.

"We should spread out and make the target more diffuse," Methos says.

"No! That just makes it easier for them to hunt us down and kill us one by one," Duncan says. "I know this, believe me. If we stay together, pool our strength, they will find it much harder to kill us."

"Obviously the answer depends on whether the Sentinels are an overwhelming force or whether we can beat them," Scott says.

They look to Charles for the answer. His three advisors, the hermit, the warrior, and the scholar.

"Let's find out," Charles says.

*

Cyclops is the leader. Storm is the tank. Duncan's code name is Highlander, of course, and Naraa is calling herself Blitz. Along with Logan, they're the mobile units.

They're in the plane. Nerves are fraught. "What do you think about amnesia? Your husband keeps feeding me bullshit," Logan complains to Duncan.

"Amnesia is rare. We actually have better memories than mortals. Grace thinks the quickening helps organize our brains. More to store. If I have a trigger, I can remember everything," Duncan says.

Logan grunts and asks, "So you haven't known anyone to lose his memory?"

"No," Naraa says.

Duncan sighs. "I have."

Logan raises an eyebrow and chews his unlit cigar.

"I told you we take students."

"Yeah, Adam keeps calling me your student. I think I'm past school age."

"No, you're not my student. Student and teacher, it's different." Richie is always there behind his eyes, Richie's voice in his ears. Guilt. He can't take another student. "I know a man called Warren Cochrane. We fought in the Rising together," he says, his accent coming out involuntarily. "We were the best of friends."

He flashes to preparing for another battle. Strapping his sword on, checking his guns, his cartridges. Walking to Warren and tugging on his straps, making sure he was secure. Warren braiding Duncan's hair back out of his face. Red plaid and blue, both fighting for the same cause. "Are you sure you want to know?" Duncan asks.

"I gotta know somehow," Logan says.

"He killed his own student in a rage and blocked out his mind so he wouldn't have to recall."

Naraa hisses. "His own student!"

Duncan cannot bear to think of Richie. It was an accident, certainly, but that doesn't quiet Richie's voice in his dreams, and he'll never forget the sound of Richie's head smacking on the concrete floor.

"Great," Logan says. "So what kind of a bastard do you think I am?"

"I think you are who you are," Duncan says. "It will come back to you."

Storm unbuckles from the front seat. "Soon," she says.

"Now!" Cyclops yells. The plane banks abruptly and Storm clings to the seat so that she doesn't hit the ceiling. "Hellfire! They don't show on radar. Stations while I come around!"

Highlander, Wolverine, and Blitz take up position by the door. Storm hand-over-hands her way back and straps in next to Blitz.

"Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!" The door pops open. The three Immortals jump. Storm waits, leaps, and flies. Below them is the Sentinel.

Wolverine and Blitz unsheath their adamantium claws. Highlander holds a magnetic bomb. They aim as best they can, Wolverine toward the head, Blitz toward the rocket feet, Highlander at the center body. Fast approaching. No ability to think. Just going by the plan--

They fall past the robot. Highlander throws the bomb. He feels it swerve, attach. He counts one, two three, and the feet fall off the robot. It falters. One eye dims. Highlander detonates the bomb.

The robot falls, bent in the middle. Highlander thinks to deploy his chute. He steers to the side, away from the path of the robot. A storm boils up, the clouds black with anger. Lightning explodes the robot into hissing drops.

It's very satisfying. Highlander touches down on the surface of the ocean and activates his life vest and beacon. "Beautiful!" Cyclops says in his ear.

"Not a scratch on me," Highlander says.

"Retrieving Highlander," Storm says. She swoops down out of the sky and plucks him from the ocean. "Where are Blitz and Wolverine?"

"Blitz. Wolverine. Report."

Storm returns Highlander to the plane. They'll have to rethink this plan; wet leather is damned unpleasant.

"Blitz, Wolverine, report," Cyclops repeats.

Then a sputter over the headset. "I'm too heavy for this girly life vest!" Blitz shouts. "Come get me before I sink again!"

"On my way," Storm replies. She dives out of the plane.

"Wolverine, report."

Storm returns with Blitz. "I don't see his chute," she says.

"Wolverine, report. Wolverine." Cyclops looks back at the others. "Wolverine, we're not leaving until we have you."

Machine feedback. They all wince. "The robot. Look on top of the robot," Blitz says.

Storm dives out of the plane again. Duncan can't see through the steam and the smoke. "I have him," she says.

He's a scorched mess when Storm pulls him up. "Hi. Forgot the parachute. Don't want to talk about it."

"You--" Naraa starts.

"Forgot the parachute," Duncan finishes.

"You _idiot_." Naraa pushes him into a seat, straddles his lap, and kisses him.

"I ain't here for my brains," Logan says. He slides his hands down Naraa's back.

"Good job, people," Cyclops says. "We can take them out."


	21. Outside.

In March, Duncan hires an apartment manager. She tells him straight up that she was in a mutant gang. She has a neck tattoo, covered by a bandage, that she's in the process of removing. Duncan believes in second chances. She was recommended to him by Rosa Diaz in 1B.

People are tense in M-Town, shying away from Duncan until he puts on his DNA helix pin. It's becoming the symbol of passing mutants, a bit like the Christian fish.

Duncan stops for lunch at Maria's Boulangerie. Hip-hop music blares over the speakers outside. The place is pretty shabby; his suit is incongruous, making him look like an outsider to the patrons until Joseph Wilkes waves. "MacLeod! Come meet the kid."

There are three tables and a counter with three stools. Wilkes is at one table with his little boy Michael, who's a pass, not a glare, at the moment. Given his father's mutations, that will probably change in a few years. Right now he solemnly shakes hands with Duncan and goes right back to his chicken salad sandwich. "Is that good?" Duncan asks him.

Michael nods.

"I'll get one too."

The woman behind the counter has jet black skin and no hair. Must be useful for food service. Duncan guesses she's Maria. "What can I get you, Mr. Trump?" she asks.

Duncan laughs. "Chicken salad sandwich and a coffee. And--wasabi peas? Really?" He plucks the foil packet from the partition at the counter.

"You like 'em spicy?" Maria twitches her hips as she assembles his sandwich. "They call me La Cucaracha."

Wilkes is grinning, showing pointed teeth. Duncan leans on the counter and admires Maria as she fishes a pickle out of the jar with her tongs. She looks him up and down, drops the first pickle, and grabs another, larger one.

She slides the plate onto the counter and shimmies in place to the music as she rings him up.

"Miss," Duncan says, "in another life, we would have made beautiful music together. In this life, alas, I'm married." He slides his money across the counter with a devastated frown, showing off the wedding ring on his left hand.

Maria staggers back, a hand against her forehead. "Oh, honey!" a woman at the next table says. "You stay strong! You'll love again!"

"I never will! Never!"

And the chicken salad sandwich is pretty good, as a bonus to the amateur dramatics. Apples and celery mixed in, reminiscent of a Waldorf salad. He shares his wasabi peas with Michael, who makes a noise like a steam whistle when he puts them in his mouth for the first time.

So all in all, he's in a good mood when he passes a newsstand and sees mutant registration is back up before the House. Also, he sees, before the state legislatures of Texas and Florida. He sighs.

"You a mutie?" the newsman asks. He slides his sunglasses off. His eyes have bar pupils like a goat's.

"Yeah. I get so tired of this." Duncan shakes his head. "How is mutant registration supposed to work? I pass. What are they going to do, poke me with a stick until I use my powers? Or do they arrest you if you do something you didn't tell them about? Would they have have spies and hearings like the House Unamerican Activities Commission?"

"You say this like it's ridiculous, brother," the newsman says.

"Yeah, well, I want it to be." Duncan pays for the paper he's been waving around.

"Hell with all this bullshit. I'm going to Genosha," the newsman hisses, leaning in. "You heard about Genosha?"

"No."

"A tropical island off Africa. A mutant homeland! We all go there, set up in this beautiful tropical paradise, see how the flatscans do without us!"

Duncan leans in. "How do you know about this place?"

"I know. I keep my ears to the ground. Genosha, brother. We can be free." The newsman cuts his eyes to Duncan's left. Cop. Duncan tucks his paper under his arm and walks the other way.

*

Dazzler is playing a show in New York City. Of course Methos has to go. He's ends up escorting Sam, Siryn, Rogue, Dani, and Artie. It's the first time he's going outside Westchester since his abduction. He'd like to say he's calm, but he's not.

Duncan frowns as Methos kisses him goodbye. "How can you even like that music? It's horrible!"

"I keep current, MacLeod." He kisses Annie as well, in Duncan's arms.

Scott hands over the keys to the school van. "You're sure you're doing this willingly?" he asks. "They don't secretly have a gun to your head?"

"No. I swear I actually do like Dazzler. I've had enough kidnapping for one lifetime."

"Have fun."

"I'll bring them back in one piece. Well. Five pieces," Methos says. "If they end up in a five-headed blob I'll call you."

They put a disc of Dazzler songs in for the ride and all sing along except Artie, who floats happy bubbles around their heads. Siryn paints a silver "ZZ" logo on the inside of the side window as they go. "Don't tell Logan I like Dazzler," Rogue says. "Promise."

"I promise."

"Logan only likes folk music. If it doesn't have a banjo, he doesn't want to know."

"Duncan only likes opera."

"Like, opera opera?"

"Mm-hm." Methos takes a deep breath. "Freude, schöner Götterfunken! Tochter aus Elysium! Wir betreten feuertrunken! Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!"

"Oh my god!" Rogue covers her face and laughs. "I can't believe you know the words!"

Words float up from the back: W H A T W A S T H A T ?

"The Ode to Joy, Artie. One of the most beautiful pieces of music in the world. I like all sorts of things," he says to Rogue.

I L I K E M U S I C A L O T projects across the front window. "I'll play you some when we get home," Methos says. It's a loud, fun drive.

The concert is packed. Parking is a nightmare. Methos finally finds a garage and pays $80 for the duration. "Oh. My god," Rogue says. "That's a new iPod."

"I'm not taking you kids on the subway. Besides, I shelled out enough for the tickets, no point getting stingy now," Methos says.

Siryn and Artie hold his hands as they walk the short distance to the venue. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Siryn sings as she skips along. Artie is a little more apprehensive. Sam leads them, dancing in small circles so he can watch where he's going and watch them too. Dani and Rogue follow Methos arm in gloved arm. Once they leave the garage, they're just part of the crowd. Methos spots another group of mutants, then a third. Even the ones that pass are somehow obvious to an accustomed eye.

"Stay close. I mean it, Sam. Sam? I mean it."

"I hear you!" Sam says.

"Yes, but are you listening? You too, girls."

"We get it!" Dani calls.

It's a sea of human teenage girls and adolescent mutants of both sexes inside the show. When the music starts, the kids dance wildly. Methos sits and watches the light show. There's something so modern about being part-- _fully_ part--of a crowd. He's never gotten used to it.

*

After the concert, kids are screaming happily. Artie imitates Dazzler's light effects, waving his arms over his head. Siryn rides on his shoulders, singing--thankfully not with powers--Dazzler's new hit. They turn down the side street to the car park, illuminated by Artie's flashes of light. It's a lovely night.

"Hey!" Dani cries. Methos turns, smiling, but it's not a happy cry. "Let go of me!" she says, wrenching away from a teenage boy. The boy's friends are watching Methos's charges.

"Hey, freaks," another boy says. Methos swings Siryn down from his shoulders and tucks her by his side. The boys are positioned between Methos--who has the young children behind him--and the two teen girls. He can't walk away without leaving Rogue and Dani.

"How did you get to be so pretty when you're all fucked up inside?" another boy asks Rogue.

She stares him down. "I dare you to touch me," she says.

"Rogue!" Methos cries a warning. The laws aren't on her side. They need to walk away from this confrontation. Use of mutant powers leads to arrest and charges of assault or attempted murder, even in self-defense.

"Rogue!" the boy echoes. "You're a wild one, huh?"

"I'm going to ask you to leave my students alone, please," Methos says. He pushes Artie behind him. The first boy is playing with Dani's braid, holding it and licking the end. She yanks it away, her shoulders hunched.

"Gosh. Well you can go, mister. But I think the girls want to stay, especially _Rogue_." The boy smirks. His hand ghosts across the crotch of his jeans. Methos punches him in the face.

He feels teeth break against his metal-reinforced knuckles. That's assault and battery. The boy falls, bleeding, and Methos steps over him and grabs the second boy, the one tormenting Dani, by the arm, pulling him into his right fist. He punches that boy in the stomach and feels ribs crush. He was a doctor once. He knows what he's doing. They would charge him with attempted murder, most likely.

There are two more boys. Methos stares them in the eye as he takes the girls by hand and glove. They're frozen for a moment, staring back at him, hands raised into fists.

The first boy coughs a bubble of blood. "You mutie fucker," one boy says. He pulls a machete out of his coat. Methos stands between him and the children and extends the knives from his skin.

Rogue abruptly bends down beside him and touches the sidewalk with her bare hand. Ice swarms across the cement and up the two boys' legs, imprisoning them.

"Oh, shit!" one says. "Shit! I can't move! Shit!" He sways, off-balance, and falls onto his ass with his legs still frozen in place. The other, the one with the machete, has a wildness in his eyes as he throws the machete at Methos.

Methos catches it by the blade. He sticks it up the back of his hoodie and leaves.

The children are silent until they get to the garage, even Sam. He doesn't notice the blood on him until he gets to the van; then he rips his hoodie off, uses it to scrubs at his hands and face, and tosses it and the filthy damn machete into the back. He closes the rear door and breathes deeply until his throat opens up and he'll be able to speak.

The children are already in the van when he steps into the driver's seat. He starts the car. "Rogue," he says, his voice steady. "You did very well. Thank you. That was a mature and well-considered use of your powers."

"Bobby's powers," she says. "Thanks," she says, more quietly.

His hands are still shaking as he starts the ignition. He follows every traffic rule as he leaves the city. Siryn, in the front seat beside him, dampens a Kleenex with her water bottle and wipes the blood from his right hand when they reach the highway.

*

Methos paces up and down the corridor outside Duncan's room. His fingers are interlaced behind his head. His face is closed, nearly expressionless, but his body says volumes.

"Methos, come to bed," Duncan says softly. He left Annie with Peter. The rest of the house is asleep, or should be. "You protected them. It's all right."

Methos ignores him, paces away. His fingers knot into his hair before he turns back around. He crosses to Duncan and puts his hands on Duncan's shoulders. "I would always run," he says. "Take a long walk."

"Yeah, to Tibet, last time." He wants to cover Methos's hands--wants to hold him--but doesn't.

"Exactly. But I--" Methos tightens his hands with a little spasm and tears away again, paces up the corridor to the stairs and back to him. "Outside are Sentinels and Morlocks and Magneto and madmen," he breathes. "Oh, God!"

He pushes away from Duncan and walks up and down, up and down, the heels of both hands against his forehead. "It's battle fatigue," Duncan says. "We can handle it."

"No." Methos holds onto Duncan's shoulders again. "This is how it happens!" he whispers. "We get too old. We lose our grip on the modern world. We can't deal any more. And we die, MacLeod!"

"You're not going to die of modernity."

"It's happened before. What about the old man who forced you to take his head? He was three thousand years old, MacLeod. I knew him. He was younger than me!"

"Breathe, Methos." Duncan tips their heads together. Methos slips his hands down to Duncan's biceps and squeezes hard.

"You're so young," Methos says. "I once went one hundred and thirty-four winters without seeing another human being. I'm not made for this world."

"None of us is. Breathe. We all have monkey brains made for the jungle." Duncan rubs their cheeks together. "It'll be better in the morning."

Methos quivers against him. It feels like he's going to tear away again but he opens his mouth and takes in a huge gulp of air. He holds it and exhales through his nostrils. The suppressed movement melts out of his body.

When Methos finally steps into his room, Duncan locks the door behind them. He closes the steel siege shutters as well. He hears a click behind him and sees Methos with his claws extended, looking at them. "Everything's changed," Methos says.

"You, yourself, told me that's true every moment of every day of every year." Duncan unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor.

Methos sighs. "I suppose I didn't really finish my nervous breakdown," he says. Duncan steps close and kisses him. The points of the knives prick his skin, but he ignores it. At first Methos doesn't respond.

A breath, shared between them, and Methos pushes his tongue into Duncan's mouth and grabs Duncan's shoulders, leaving a thin cold trace of pain as his knives drag across Duncan's chest. He pulls Duncan close.

Duncan tries to step further, move Methos toward the bed, but Methos doesn't budge; it leaves Duncan off balance, held up by Methos's grip. They breathe together, a metallic hint of blood in the air. Methos's mouth is as hard and grasping as his hands.

Methos sucks at his lip until Duncan tastes copper. Methos's eyes are closed, his brow still furrowed. Duncan unbuckles his trousers and lets them drop. He hooks his shoe on the back of Methos's boot and tugs them off, steps on his socks, tucks his bare feet between Methos's boots, naked. "You're not alone," he says.

"That was never the issue." Methos opens his eyes. They're ankle to ankle, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, both noses cocked to their respective rights. Duncan slides his hands up under Methos's shirt, where the new curves of his metal ribs still surprise him.

The old man's body was invaded and changed. Duncan understands that he's not recovered yet. Of course he understands. Methos says, flippantly, that Duncan has lost his mind twice, but it's the flat truth. He shifts off his center of balance and rests in Methos's grip again, stroking the silken skin of Methos's flank over the internal armor of rib and hipbone. He still has the small raised mole at the top of his buttock, just where the waistband of his trousers hit him. He still has the animal stripe of down along his spine. He still has the slight change in texture in his chin from his tattooed right side to his unmarked left. He still has the tiny scar beside the tear duct of his left eye.

Methos steps backward, taking Duncan with him. He sits down, slowly, and holds his fists above his head, claws still extended. "Help me?"

The shirt rips when Duncan pulls it up off Methos's arms. Methos lets his elbows unlock and his forearms cross behind his head as he looks up at Duncan. The muscles of his arms quiver as his fingers lock and re-lock into fists. "What do you want of me, Duncan? Why are you here with this querulous old man?"

"You fascinate me," Duncan says. "And I love you. It's a thing that happens between people." He drops the torn shirt on the floor.

He fucks Methos hard and slow. They start far apart, touching only at those few inches where their bodies join, Methos's head turned to one side. But Methos uncoils fraction by fraction and they melt together, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, Methos's arms embrace his neck, and Methos's legs fold up around his waist. He fucks Methos until he has no strength left and kisses him as he comes.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Duncan asks him. He lies on his side beside Methos.

Methos smooths a lock of hair away from his face. "If the police don't haul me out of bed first."

*

Narantuyaa turns over. "I'm making some tea," she says to Logan. She doesn't bother to lower her voice; he's not asleep either.

"Dammit, turn the light on, okay? I'm just going to read." He turns over and pulls _Watership Down_ from under the pillow.

She leaves the light on and closes the door softly. At the end of the hall, Peter is outlined against the window, holding Artie in his arms. He meets her eyes as she passes but doesn't move.

She bypasses Quentin in the lounge. She doesn't care what's on TV. But there's a small light in the kitchen; someone is there. She smells burning.

It's burning hair. Dani is holding a black lock of hair over the stove burner, crying silently. Narantuyaa stands on a chair and turns off the smoke detector over the stove.

The hair curls up against the metal tongs. Finally Dani opens the tongs, burning the last few snips. She wipes her hand over her eyes. "Now he's gone," she says.

"Dry your eyes and find your anger, little sister," Naraa says. Dani nods, squaring her shoulders, her eyes bright.

*

Adam isn't taken away by the police. Rogue can't even find a whisper about the attack. And next week, Scott takes her down into the sub-basement and they fit her for a uniform. She's on the team.

Rogue admires herself in the mirror. She strikes a pose, then throws a punch. "Here," Duncan says, patting his palm. "High kick."

She kicks, kicks, twirls. The uniform fits perfectly. It used to be Jean's. Scott swallows and turns away.

"I'm so ready for this," Rogue says. She's been practicing guns with Adam and driving with Logan and Scott. She has Magneto's metal manipulation, or at least a fraction of it, some of Logan's healing ability, some of John's fire control, and some of Bobby's ice control. Scott had a firm talk with Bobby about that.

So she probably is ready, but Scott's not sure if he is.

"Children must grow up," the Professor says in his head.


	22. Temper.

"I'm not jealous," Bobby says to Peter.

"Sure," Peter agrees. He sharpens his pencil carefully so the hard, brittle lead doesn't snap.

"But I'm stronger than she is! And almost the same age! I graduated, I'm just working on college credit!"

Bobby is working on college level classes _here_ because his parents aren't responding to the financial aid paperwork. He needs to prove to the university that he's emancipated, but he doesn't want to, because it will also prove that they disowned him. "Sure."

"She's not that much readier! It doesn't make any frigging sense!"

"No," Peter says. He keeps sketching Bobby. The lines of his eyebrows when he's angry are interesting.

"I mean, how would you feel if Jean-Paul made the team before you did?"

"I don't know if Jean-Paul wants to make the team."

"But if he did, man!" Bobby elbows Peter's knee. "Ow." He rubs his funny bone.

"I don't know. It's hypothetical."

Bobby rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "You are way too mellow." He hitches himself up on Peter's bed, beside Peter's feet, and leans against the wall. Peter is tucked up into the corner, sketchbook on his knees. Angel's bed is in the other corner, with the closet between them and the door at the foot of Angel's bed, and then Artie and Sam's beds are on the other side of the room. "Does Angel actually sleep in that bed?" Bobby asks.

"Of course." Angel actually sleeps in a tree unless it's too cold. He can't deal with hearing other people breathe. But Hero swore Peter to secrecy, so he's not telling.

"Jean-Paul wants us to switch rooms. I mean, me and you." He and Jean-Paul share a two-person room. It's seniority, since Bobby is older.

"I know." He feels himself blush. He hitches the sketch book higher so Bobby can't see him.

"I'm all for it. He bitches about how cold I make the room. And, like, I don't make the room cold! I have control. And he's Canadian, what's his problem?"

"He has a really high metabolism," Peter says. "It's hard for him to feel warm."

"So he can put on a sweater! Tell him to put on a sweater already."

"Um..." He shouldn't have gotten involved. He knows better.

"He doesn't listen to me!" Bobby snorts. "He doesn't listen to anyone. Except maybe Adam, he's a total teacher's pet there. What's up with that guy?"

"I don't know, what's up with him?"

"Do you buy that he's really five thousand years old?"

Peter shrugs. "Why wouldn't I?"

"He's a freak. He eats brains."

"You think he's a zombie instead?"

"No, I mean he actually eats actual brains," Bobby says.

Peter's door opens before he can answer. Jean-Paul runs in, almost at super-speed, and leaps into Peter's lap. "Hello!" he says, kissing Peter. He ignores Bobby.

Bobby sighs. "Later, man."

"Yes, you can go now," Jean-Paul says. He strokes Peter's chin.

Peter pushes him away a few inches so he can talk. "I was talking to him. It was important."

"How important can it be? It's only Bobby and I am me!"

Bobby shoots Jean-Paul a dirty look. Peter flushes up to his hair and says, "That's so rude." He holds Jean-Paul around his waist and stands up, setting Jean-Paul down on his feet.

Jean-Paul's mouth falls open in shock; both eyebrows arch. Bobby snickers and that sets Jean-Paul off in a torrent of furious French. Peter yells back in Russian that Jean-Paul is a spoiled brat, rude as a pig, and not as hot as he thinks he is. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Bobby backs out of the room carefully.

*

Bobby points mutely to Peter's room, but Scott is already on his way. He can hear the shouting clear down the hall. "Hey!" Scott barks. "Enough! Jean-Paul, walk it off!"

Jean-Paul whirls on him, eyebrows snarled, sneering. Behind him, by his bed, Peter is flushed and quietly furious, his arms crossed over his chest. "What business do you have here?" Jean-Paul demands.

"Walk it off and talk it over when you've calmed down," Scott says.

Jean-Paul huffs, but flounces out the window, hitting the ground running. "Peter," Scott says.

"I started the fight. He was rude to Bobby." Peter looks at the floor.

"Okay. But Peter--" He closes the door. This isn't his strong point. He should get Jean--

Oh, God. He fights down the grief; he has a job to do. He takes a deep breath and says, "Peter, everyone argues, but it can go too far. I'm not saying it has, but this is the second shouting match in a week."

Peter nods, his eyes still on the floor.

"Fights can escalate into abuse." Peter shoots him an astonished look, but Scott continues. "If he ever starts telling you you're stupid, attacking you, or making you do something you don't want to do--"

"He hasn't."

"I know you're twice his size, but emotional abuse has nothing to do with physicality. If anything happens, or starts to feel wrong, we're here."

Peter nods.

"Okay." He pats Peter's shoulder. "I'll stop embarrassing you."

"Thanks," Peter says softly.

*

Methos rocks Annie, singing to her. "Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, it calls but the warders that guard thy repose."

Duncan opens the door silently and smiles. It's a Scottish song, though after his day. He leans in next to Methos and finishes. "Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, o ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo."

Annie's eyes are closed and the third eyelid shows black in the cracks. Her gills and lips are healthy pink. "Do you think her nails are turning cobalt?" Methos whispers to Duncan. Duncan brushes a thumb over her nails, then nods.

Methos sets her gently in her crib, turns on the baby monitor, and he and Duncan leave the room. He flips the sign on his door to "BABY SLEEPING. SHUSH."

"Adam," Duncan says. "You need a code name, in case we have to talk about you in public."

"Ah." Methos rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "Lowlander."

"Uch. Be serious."

"Scotch-Gard?"

Duncan blows a raspberry. They walk through the lounge, past Quentin on the couch having a death struggle with Jubilee for control of the television. When Quentin changes the channel to CNN with a blink of his eyes, Jubilee changes it to Bravo with the remote. Mutant registration hearings war with wedding etiquette. Methos and Duncan continue through to the small kitchen.

In the kitchen, the windows are open, scenting the air with freshly mown grass. Dani is eating carrot sticks and hummus and reading her history text. "Dani, my dear, apparently I need a code name. What do you think?" Methos asks.

Dani looks up. She has parsley on her chin. "Baby-daddy," she says, and returns to her book. Duncan laughs.

"Extra homework for you, young lady," Methos says.

"Then I'm gonna report you to the professor for creating a hostile school environment. Mr. MacLeod, I don't understand World War I. I get that it started with a duke being shot, but why?"

"Excellent question," Methos says. "I never figured that one out and I was there. I mean, at the beginning. I went to Iceland for the bulk of it."

Duncan runs his fingers through his hair. "Will you cook tea?" he asks Methos. Methos rolls his eyes, but puts the kettle on.

He makes beans, egg, and toast while Duncan attempts to explain imperialism to a fifteen year old girl. She seems to get it, though. "They all wanted to rule the entire world. They all thought they could," she says. "So they wanted to try."

"Sounds plausible to me." Methos serves tea, feeling painfully domestic.

"There was no conception of cultural relativism, or that having other cultures in the world is a good thing. Everyone thought theirs was the best and therefore they were destined to win." Duncan picks up knife and fork and tucks into his food.

"Bit like the old days," Methos says. "Back in the day, when two armies were fighting, their gods were fighting too. If you won, it meant you were divinely guided to win. Or trial by combat, on a massive scale."

"Huh." Dani marks her place in her history book. She eats her carrots, idly, wiggling the stick between her teeth. "So, Mr. MacLeod, why did you say 'cook tea'? Don't you boil tea?"

"No," Methos says. "You make tea by boiling the water and then pouring it over the tea leaves, thus *not* boiling the actual tea."

Dani rolls her eyes.

"Alternately, tea is the meal between lunch and supper, if you're from Scotland. Why did you lose your accent, Duncan?" Methos asks in his turn.

"Kristen trained it out of me. She said I sounded like a bumpkin."

Dani points her carrot. "That sucks. They did the same thing to my grandma in school. She's, you know, she has an Indian accent, and the teachers put her in special classes until she talked like they wanted. Now I sound like a weather girl instead of a Tsêhéstáno."

"But I still have the Gaelic. Do you have the Tsêhést, Dani?"

She shakes her head. "There's a class in Montana--but I don't have my powers under control. I can't leave yet."

"Mm. I'll have to see what we can do about that. You can't lose your people's language. I only have the Lakota, or I'd help." Duncan elbows Methos, making him spill his tea on his toast. Methos glares over his cup. "Do you have any Tsêhést?" Duncan asks.

"No. Don't you think I would have said?"

"What's your tribe, Adam? I mean, you were tribal, right?" Dani asks.

"Don't ask, I've tried," Duncan replies.

"The People," Methos says. "They were the People. We thought we were the only humans in the world so we didn't need any other name than that."

Duncan stands up, slowly. "You told me you couldn't remember."

"I said it was a blur."

"What did outside people call them?" Dani asks.

"Nothing," Methos says. He can't remember the word for "People," only the feeling. He remembers the concepts. He remembers how to build a shelter, a fish knife, a spear, a carry-bag. He remembers hibernating with his family, sleeping the long nights away, rising once a day to take care of necessities.

Duncan looks like a thundercloud. He doesn't believe him. But Methos is used to that; he doesn't care. "Look, the first time we met other humans, we all died. They had bronze weapons, we had stone," Methos says. "It was a failed culture. I let it go." Except of course that he lived at the site for six hundred years afterwards. He remembers the twin graveyards, the ground of the People and the ground of the Dogs. The ground of the Dogs expanded as he laid his hunting dogs to rest, one after the other, but the People only faded and grew over.

Duncan sits back down. "This is important, Methos."

"Not to me." Methos pours another cup of tea all around. The light is lowering in the sky, shining in through the tops of the windows; in the main kitchen, Scott and Xavier are fixing dinner for the bulk of the school. Outside, the gardeners are packing up the mowers and clippers for the week.

"I remember what the Cheyenne were," Duncan says.

"Don't start," Methos says. "I remember what the Sumerians were, I remember what the Etruscans were, blah blah. Empires rise and fall. One day we'll be reminiscing about the United States. They were the first to go to the moon, we'll say, and people will just stare at us, like who cares about that? Nobody will even know it was important. Do you care who the first people were to use bronze tools? No!"

Duncan stares at him. Methos looks back. "Janus," Methos says. "If I need a code name, you can call me Janus."

"The two-faced god?" Duncan asks, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"God of endings and beginnings."

"So it's like prairie fires," Dani says. "You set fire to the old grass to clear it away, because otherwise the new grass can't grow. And the Tsé-tsêhéstâhese and the People and the Scottish are old grass. I get it," she says. There's quiet, burning fury in her voice.

Duncan takes her hand. "It's an opinion."

A survivor's opinion, Methos thinks but doesn't say.

"You're a douchebag," Dani says.

"But I'll outlive this one," Methos snaps. He gets up. Right now he's glad that he and Duncan have separate rooms.

*

Scott walks into the TV lounge and finds Sam and Quentin wrestling on the couch. The TV is flickering madly between channels. "Hey!" Scott says. Sam scrambles backwards. Both his glasses and Quentin's are on the floor; Quentin's levitate and shoot back onto his face. "What's going on?" Scott asks.

"I want to watch TV and he's always here!" Sam yells.

"I know, that's why we have the voting system," Scott says.

"Yeah, but when it's just two people, he always says he wins because of research! It's not fair! I want to watch Dazzler!"

"I am doing research," Quentin says. "My studies are nearing completion."

"Studying what, Quentin? is this something you were assigned?" Scott asks.

Quentin looks up at him under his lashes. " _No_. This is my life's work."

He says things like this and Scott never knows how to respond. "You're ten, buddy. Your life is just starting."

Quentin looks back at the TV. "I have a timetable. I'm willing to allow the other students to interfere, but only when there's a clear majority."

"See?" Sam says.

"Help," Scott thinks as loudly as he can, but he can't reach the Professor. "All right," he says out loud. "Quentin, what are you watching?"

"Commercials."

"Let Sam switch it to Dazzler and you can watch the commercials on that station."

"Those are the wrong commercials. I have already analyzed those commercials. I need to analyze cable commercials between the hours of 6pm and 10pm for my work."

"I'm sorry, but I have to vote with Sam. Dazzler is a mutant icon. One of us. I'll watch with you, and then it's a two to one vote," Scott says.

"So there!" Sam yells.

"Sam! If you can't be nice I'm going to change my mind," Scott says. Sam shuts up and Scott sits down.

He hates Dazzler's music. It's a pain in the ass being in charge sometimes.


	23. Clash.

The Sentinel crashes into the East River, the light in its eyes extinguished. That was too close a call and they're not done yet. Highlander dives for the hot dog vendor who was swept into the water.

"Fuck! Fucking terrorist scum! Let go of me, you big leather homo!" The man smacks him with his tongs. Duncan drags him to the bank anyway. "I'm gonna get HPV and hepatitis and Lyme disease! Fuck!"

Highlander shoves him out of the water and hauls himself up after. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," the man says in a wholly different tone. "What in the hell is that?"

"The terrorists sent that after an eight year old girl because her genes were a little differently wired," Highlander says. He reels his chute back into the chest harness.

The man whistles. "Sorry, homo. Guess you're on the right side."

Highlander claps him on the shoulder and touches his communicator. "I'm at the river."

"Occupied!" Rogue yells. The four-wheeler's engine is roaring and there's something else as well. "Hang on!"

"Status is safe. Sentinel is disabled."

"Second overhead!"

"Where the hell are the heroes?" the hot dog man asks the world. "This is some Fantastic Four shit right here." He picks up a rock and hurls it at the robot, resulting in a satisfying clang and crash of armor into the water.

"Cyclops," Highlander says. "Sit rep?"

"Rogue under fire. Wolverine assisting. Storm fallen. Blitz has not reported. Stay put, I see your position. Fight is headed your way."

"Got it." Highlander shakes the hot dog man's shoulder. "Sir, you have to--"

The river erupts in vapor. The second Sentinel is after the first, trying to destroy it to keep it out of the right hands. "Run!" Highlander yells.

The hot dog man backs up. "And what about you, homo?"

"I'm a mutant! I'm a target! Go!"

The hot dog man shakes his head, but he runs. The Sentinel flies into view. Too large, too vicious, too awful. Highlander draws his sword. If this is the end, he wants his katana in his hand.

And then, Spider-Man lands beside him. "Hey. Need a hand?"

"Get me close! I can't fly!" Highlander points to the Sentinel.

"You sure?" But Spider-Man lifts him easily and swings them both up above the rooftops. Five stories, ten. Thirty. Fifty. "Can't reach it! Too high! Gotta--hang on!" Spider-Man shouts. Duncan winces as Spider-Man swings them in dizzying leaps over the skyscrapers. "Whoa! Gotta, uh, hang on, gotta take this." He clings to the side of a building.

Spider-Man apparently keeps a cell phone in his pants. Not his pocket, his pants. Duncan concentrates on staying on the building. He may be immortal, but it's awfully high.

"Really? Cool." Spider-Man gives him the thumbs up. "Iron Man!" he says. "Check it!"

"My team is down there!" Highlander says.

"Are you all in the black? X-Men, right? X-Men," Spider-Man tells the phone. "Yeah, we're near the Baxter Building."

Are they? The city looks different from up here. Smaller, for one. Duncan holds onto the window. "Highlander, report," Cyclops says in his ear.

Highlander carefully raises one hand to his comm. "On top of a building with Spider-Man," he says, not looking down.

"Really?"

"Iron Man is involved."

"I see him. Locating the team. Stay in contact."

Highlander looks down. "Out." He looks down, down, down.

"What's the deal with the robots?" Spider-Man asks.

Highlander swallows and focuses. "They target mutants. I'm not sure if we saved the target. Blitz went after her and we lost contact."

"Where? No, wait, I already know. The fire. Come on. Hey, what's your name?" Spider-Man grabs him again and they swing through the city streets.

"Highlander!"

"What?"

"Highlander!"

"Huh?"

They land. Duncan sways, feeling like the wrong side of an over-easy egg. "The Highlander." He presses his fingers into his temples and looks around.

Fire. The remains of fire, that is, and in the center, there is Naraa and a small girl. Naraa is scorched, her hair half burned off, but the buzz in his head tells him she's still alive. The girl is untouched. She's curled into a tiny ball by Naraa's side.

"Blitz." Duncan kneels by Naraa. He shakes her shoulder lightly and she mutters something in Mongolian.

"Hey, sweetie. What happened?" Spider-Man crouches beside the girl.

"I wouldn't touch her." Spider-Man looks at him. "Just a guess, but--I wouldn't," Duncan says. He touches his comm. "Cyclops. Blitz is alive and unconscious. Target likewise."

"Stay there and protect them. Iron Man took the last Sentinel down. We're mopping this mess up."

"Do you guys do this a lot, with the robots?"

"No. Most of the time, we get there too late."

Spider-Man looks at the little girl. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Today is a good day, then."

"Pretty good."

*

Iron Man calls in the Fantastic Four. The five of them lift the Sentinels up into the Baxter Building for study. It's awkward, especially when Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic, tells Scott he has to place them under citizen's arrest.

Logan raises an eyebrow. "Uh," Richards says. "Sorry. You are performing illegal activities of vigilantism under, uh, I have the act right here." He fumbles in his pocket.

"What you do is run and he won't chase you," Spider-Man says in a stage whisper. He shoots a web out over the city and swings away.

"I really am sorry," Richards says.

Iron Man snorts. "Reed, this is not your forte." He takes off, arcing gracefully up from the ground to the top of the building after the Sentinels.

"We have this charter from S.H.I.E.L.D."

Both Immortals draw back. "We've had our fill of government agencies," Duncan says.

"Human experimentation gets old real fast," Logan says.

Richards looks stricken. "What? I don't know anything about that."

"I hope not," Scott says. He turns, signaling Rogue to lower the door of the plane.

"No, wait! What happened?" Richards reaches out his arm and keeps reaching, stretching out his rubber hand to grab Scott's shoulder. Logan flicks his arm away with an adamantium finger. "I just want to help!" Richards calls.

"Rogue, go, fast, before someone changes their mind," Scott says.

Rogue shoots them into the sky. Naraa lies muttering to herself on a bench seat, smoke-blackened but already healed. Ororo rests beside her, wincing from a sprained ankle. Between them is the little girl. "That could have gone better," Scott says.

"Or much worse," Ororo says.

*

In the lounge, Dani holds Annie on her lap and reads her history text aloud to her. Annie listens, wide eyed. Her blue skin clashes with Dani's maroon shirt.

Methos walks in. "Daddy!" Annie cries. Methos sits on the coffee table as Annie incomprehensibly explains what the girls have been reading.

"I'm sorry," Methos says softly, for Dani's ears. "I'm accustomed to loss, but that doesn't mean you should be."

"How can you stand thinking like that? Like nothing matters because it's all going to end anyway?"

"Daddy!" Annie insists. He's not paying her enough attention. She scrambles over and tugs on his thumb.

"I don't," Methos says. "I live in the moment." He stands up, swooping Annie into his arms, and smacks half a dozen kisses onto her cheek, making her squeak and giggle.

He hears the jet incoming and walks out to watch it land. The world is full of wonders.

*

Yellow room. White curtains drawn over the window. The small girl sits on the bed, yellow blanket decorated with pink teddy bears; she's curled up with her arms over her head.

Charles walks into the room and sits beside her. "My name is Charles," he says. He finds that he's speaking Spanish.

"I can't talk to you," she replies in the same language.

"Oh. All right." He stands and walks to the window.

He touches the curtains and she screams. "No, no, no! You can't look! You can't!"

Charles backs away from the window. The girl cries into her hands.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" Charles asks.

She doesn't answer, only cries.

"I knew a little girl once, just your age. Her name was Jean, and she was a mutant too."

She doesn't answer.

"She was a very powerful little girl. She could pick things up with her mind and throw them around the room. Toys, cars, people... as small as a grain of sugar or as big as a house."

She doesn't answer.

"I run a school, you see, and I wanted to teach her how to use her gifts. I took her home with me to the school. You're in it now, in the house I grew up in."

She doesn't answer.

"Then a week after she came to my house, I heard her cry out in her sleep. I went to her bed to wake her up from her nightmare, but as soon as I touched her, her powers lashed out at me. She threw me across the room and broke both my arms."

She looks up, face red and streaked with tears.

"But I never blamed her or hurt her. I helped her."

He stands and walks to the window. He pulls back the curtain and looks out onto a landscape of flame.

The room flickers hellish red and yellow. Charles turns back to the girl. "I killed them all," the girl says.

"Your powers did. But you can learn to control them. You have to; you're the only one that can."

"I don't know how! It comes from nowhere!" she sobs.

"After she hurt me, Jean studied, she learned, and she never hurt anyone again. Ever. She saved lives with her gift." Charles sits back down beside her.

"It's not a gift."

"It is if you let it be."

"It's from Satan!" Tears stream down her face. "I killed Mama!"

"It's human, belonging neither to Satan nor to God. What you are is whatever you decide you are, Xochitl," he says.

"I am the Devil."

"I don't think you are."

The room erupts in flame. Her wide eyes reflect the consuming fire. "This is hell," she says.

He takes her hands. "Walk out with me."

The flames hide the door.

"We can walk out into the sunshine," he says.

She cries out. The room shatters.

*

Duncan and Logan step out of the elevator. "I hate head injuries," Naraa says. Logan is carrying her to her room. She's too woozy to walk yet, but doesn't want to stay in the infirmary.

"It's easy," Logan says, turning the corner to the stairs. "You just avoid getting hit in the head." Naraa groans.

Duncan steps out into the back garden. It's only afternoon; it feels like it should be midnight. "Mama!" Annie yells.

"Darling!" He bends down and catches her as she hurtles towards him. The garden is idyllic, like a populated Eden: Artie and Sam chasing each other with sticks, Siryn diagramming geometry problems with blades of grass, Peter drawing by the lily pond, Aurore pulling weeds, and in the middle, Methos and their daughter. This is what he's fighting for. It's what he's always been fighting for.

"I flied!" Annie says.

"Angel took her flying," Methos clarifies. He kisses Duncan's cheek. "Did you win?"

"We won!" Duncan swoops Annie through the air. Siryn looks up and cheers.

Methos heads inside. Duncan dangles Annie upside down until she insists on being set down, and then she jumps into the lily pond in all her clothes. He considers scolding her, but... no. He sits beside Peter instead and watches her swim.

Peter glances at him, then back to his notebook. "I tried drawing her. I can never get her eyes right," he says, turning back a few pages. He shows Duncan a drawing of Angel and Annie in the blue sky.

"That's lovely."

"Her eyes don't look real. They're too..." Peter gestures with his pencil.

"Dramatic," Duncan offers. Just then, Annie clambers up the opposite side of the lily pond. "Here, my love!" Duncan calls, leaning away from Peter.

And Iron Man lands in the middle of the courtyard, a few feet from Annie. She runs up to him. Peter jumps to his feet, converting his body into steel with an audible clank. Artie and Sam drop their sticks. Siryn screams.

Oh, God, her scream pierces his head like an ice pick. His eyes water and he clamps his hands over his ears; so do the others, even Iron Man. Siryn stops after only a second, just enough for an alarm, and Duncan is the first to recover.

Annie is screaming in real pain. He can't think; she's at Iron Man's feet. Does he rush Iron Man and spark a confrontation? But he can't leave his daughter there.

"Jesus Christ on a sesame seed bun!" Iron Man's voice is distorted. He rips his helmet off and Duncan can hear a mechanical squeal of feedback inside. Seems like Siryn blew some of his machinery. Peter walks across the lily pond, chipping the masonry with his metal toe, plants his hands on Iron Man's upper arms, and lifts him off his feet. He keeps walking. "Hey. Whoa. Kid, I'm here to talk," Iron Man says. "Whoa!"

Duncan jumps the pond and scoops up Annie; she clings to him, sobbing. Peter looks over his shoulder and stops. "Here," Aurore says, and takes Annie out of his arms. She takes a speedy step, two, and leaps up into Methos's second floor balcony. Her control is perfect.

Artie points his finger at Iron Man. Huge technicolor letters surround him: W H O A R E Y O U W H O A R E Y O U ?

"Tony Stark! Iron Man!" Iron Man kicks his feet helplessly. Meanwhile, Iceman leans out of his third floor window. Siryn and Sam flee into the house. Nightcrawler teleports in behind Iron Man in a puff of sulfurous smoke. "Don't you watch TV, little man?" Iron Man says. "What the hell is that smell? Am I on fire?"

"You're not on fire," Highlander says. He catches Nightcrawler's eye and points to Artie. Nightcrawler nods, embraces Artie and teleports them both out. The letters around Iron Man fade.

Nightcrawler teleports back with Cyclops. "Put him down, please," Cyclops says. He's shirtless, barefoot, his hair still wet.

Colossus sets Iron Man down. Iron Man staggers a few steps and looks down at his arms. "You dented my chassis!"

"Thank you, Colossus. Please join the others." Colossus does. He bends to fish his soaked notebook out of the lily pond on the way.

"He dented my chassis. Do you have any idea how much this costs?" Iron Man says. He runs a glove over the finger marks on his upper arms. Highlander takes a step to the side, forming a triangle with Iron Man in the middle. He spots Rogue helping Storm limp through the roof access door. A breeze picks up.

"He's sixteen," Cyclops says. "I apologize for this less than friendly greeting, but surprises make us twitchy. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually, I came to see if that little girl was okay. Spider-Man told me you had her."

"All that tech and you don't have a phone?" Highlander says. Cyclops shoots him a look right through the visor; he doesn't speak for the school, and Cyclops does.

Iron Man turns, widening his eyes. "I don't have your _number_. You guys have an attitude problem, you know that?"

"That was my daughter you nearly landed on," Highlander says. He shoots a look back at Cyclops, who obviously didn't know that tidbit. Wolverine steps out onto Methos's balcony with his claws extended and his eyes focused on Iron Man. Kitty and Dani--Shadowcat and Mirage, rather--stand beside Iceman on their balcony.

"As I said, I apologize for the bad beginning. We're taking care of the little girl. She's not physically hurt," Cyclops says.

"Mentally?"

"We can deal with that. We have before."

"We know all about your school. I know your name is Scott Summers, and I know you're not in charge," Iron Man says. Nightcrawler's tail lashes. Cyclops doesn't flinch. "SHIELD got Stryker's files. We don't have a problem with you guys!"

"Stryker?" Nightcrawler says.

"How many of Stryker's files?" Cyclops asks.

Iron Man cocks his head. "Oh, shoe's on the other foot, huh? I want to talk to Charles Xavier. Is the Brute Squad going to let me in the front door?" He cocks at thumb at them.

"The front door is on the other side of the house and you'd dent our floors. But the Professor will see you on the veranda," Cyclops says, surprising Highlander.

Apparently it's not a combat situation. Duncan doesn't quite see it the same way, but it's not his call. He jogs back into the house, passing the Professor as he wheels out of the elevator, and meets Methos with Grace and Annie on the stair landing. She's still crying. "Is she OK?"

Grace is checking her ears. "I don't see any damage. I think it's just a headache. I have to go back to the little girl," she says, running back down the stairs to the elevator. Methos and Duncan sit on the stairs, curled together around Annie.

Outside, Iron Man is sitting on a stone bench. Xavier is talking to him calmly, but they can't hear over Annie's sobs. Artie and Siryn creep back down the stairs. "I'm so sorry!" Siryn whispers. Duncan gestures her to him--she's only a child, after all--and she sits beside him. He puts his arm around her shoulders.

Artie leans against Methos's back. Annie subsides into sniffles. They all watch the veranda. Scott stands by the door; Peter brings him a shirt.

"--simply don't see it the same way," Duncan catches Xavier saying.

"Yeah, but you could let them through the door," Iron Man replies.

"They frighten the students. As you saw."

"I'll have defenses for that next time."

"I think you broke his suit," Duncan says softly to Siryn.

She hides her face against his shoulder. "I'm going to be in so much trouble."

"Yes, we've seen what the Avengers have done," Xavier says.

"That doesn't impress you?"

Scott shifts, placing his hands on his hips. "Well," Xavier says. "Since the Avengers were announced, seven mutants around the world have died from Sentinel attacks, twenty-one have died from mob attacks, thirty-four have been imprisoned for possessing mutant powers, and one hundred and eighteen have suicided. The Avengers have saved one. You have assisted us to save another. On our own, in that time, through various methods, we have saved twenty-nine."

Duncan adds up their missions and comes up short. Through various methods, though, so that surely meant the mutant underground railroad as well. The Professor is constantly in contact with activists around the world.

Iron Man leans forward, scraping against the concrete. "So work with us. Our power, your methods."

"I'm sorry, Mr Stark. For any negotiations of this nature, I must insist on the presence of my attorney. Will you make an appointment?"

"...You have got to be freaking kidding me."

"Not at all. Scott, can you bring me the appointment book?"

*

Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, partners in the Murdock and Nelson law firm, park in front of the mansion in the circular drive. It's not a very impressive car. "Why them, for this?" Scott asks. They're a criminal defense firm. As far as Scott knows, the Professor hasn't been charged with any crimes. He's been meaning to ask this very basic question for a while.

"Mr. Murdock is known as the man without fear. Additionally--" Xavier smiles as Murdock steps out of the car and extends his cane. "He's blind. Who better to be unimpressed by Iron Man and the Fantastic Four than a man who cannot, in fact, see them?"

Murdock rests his hand on Nelson's shoulder. "Three steps," Nelson says as they reach the stairs. They work together smoothly. "Mr. Summers, Dr. Xavier."

"I'm looking forward to this," Murdock says. He shakes hands with them both.

"We're holding the meeting in one of the classrooms. I'm afraid my office isn't big enough." Xavier leads them to the elevator. "We'll wait there and let Scott greet our guests at the door."

*

Stark arrives first in a stretch limo. It parks awkwardly behind the lawyers' car. Behind the limo is some kind of tricked-out Humvee with the Avengers logo on the side.

Stark steps out of the limo, along with Agent Coulson, an Air Force colonel that must be Stark's friend Rhodes, and a red-haired woman he doesn't know at all. She doesn't look like Jean, thank God.

Out of the Humvee step Wilson and the Maximoff twins. The Pyms aren't with them.

Stark is looking up. Unexpectedly, he sticks his tongue out, then inserts his fingers in his mouth and pulls the corners into a grimace with a "hrrr" sound.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Rhodes asks.

"It's a school. There's a kid."

Scott steps out and looks up; sure enough, there's Artie, hanging out of the window, pulling down his eyelids and sticking out his long, indigo tongue. Peter tugs Artie back inside by his collar.

"Hello, Scott. It's been a while." Wanda shakes his hand. It's been about fifteen years, actually, since they were both locked up together. He'd been captured as part of a mutant experimentation program. Wanda and Pietro had already been caught. Scott was lucky; he was only there for a day or so, no poking and prodding that he can recall, before the captive mutants staged a breakout. Him, Wanda, Pietro, Callisto, Toad, Emma Frost, Psylocke, others whose names he never had the chance to learn. They were met by Xavier and Magneto, who had been working together for once, searching for a way to rescue Magneto's children.

It was the start of a new life for Scott. The Professor gave him his first real home since his parents died. The others had all gone their own ways. Scott hadn't seen any of them--except Toad, in battle--since the jailbreak. He hadn't even really seen them then. His eyes were taped shut to keep him from wrecking the place.

"I understand you're a schoolteacher now," Wanda says.

"Yes ma'am. Math."

"And how is Jean? I saw her speech in front of Congress--"

Scott drops his head as the grief slams into him, an unexpected blow. It's a moment before he can speak.

"Oh, no," Wanda says softly.

"Died last September," Scott manages. His tears vaporize behind the visor. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, but can't. He mutely gestures the guests into the house.

Scampering feet. Sounds like some of the kids are disobeying the "stay in your rooms" rule. It makes him smile, and that lets his chest expand, finally.

As the Avengers contingent enters the front hall, the Fantastic Four's jet lands in the back garden. Right on the basketball court on top of the X-Jet. Scott wonders if they know. All four of the Four step out: Ben Grimm, Reed Richards, Susan Storm, and Johnny Storm. Grimm--who was transformed into living rock--treads carefully along the path but still leaves puffs of gravel dust behind him.

"Use the freight entrance, Stoneface!" Stark yells.

Grimm stops walking. Well, that's not on.

Scott hurries down the back steps. "Our floors are reinforced to 2000 pounds," Scott says. "We have a student who turns into solid steel. We thought ahead. You can use any elevator and walk anywhere in the house except the attic."

"Well, thanks," Grimm says, shaking Scott's hand. His hand feels like a warm granite sculpture. "That's awful nice of you."

"We don't discriminate based on color, origin, or weight. We would appreciate it if you keep your flame turned off, though, Mr. Storm."

When they return to the house, Stark looks cranky. "What happened to 'you'll dent the floor'?"

"This isn't what he wears, Mr. Stark," Scott says. "This is what he is. It makes a difference."

Scott takes them all upstairs, then. Himself and Grimm in the elevator, which operates smoothly. The others take the stairs. In the second floor history lecture room, the Professor and the lawyers are waiting.

Introductions all around. Scott was right, the Air Force colonel is Rhodes. The red-haired woman is Stark's assistant Pepper Potts. She takes notes of everything on her PDA, which Scott bets is not a Blackberry but rather a Stark original.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Xavier says, and wheels out of the room.

"Hey!" Stark yells. "Where are you going?"

"Logic and reasoning class, Mr. Stark." Xavier looks at Scott as he leaves. "If you don't mind the subterfuge," he says in Scott's mind.

"Not at all," Scott answers in the same way. When the Professor watches and listens through his mind, it feels like a hand touching him on the skull just behind his ear. It doesn't bother him. It's nice to know his near-father is there.

"That's better," Murdock says crisply. "Makes the situation a little clearer."

"Yeah, much clearer to remove the guy who actually knows what we're talking about!" Stark exclaims.

"Sir, I know everything we need to talk about," Murdock says.

"So," Stark says. "What's your problem?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, that's not the question at all," Murdock says. Despite his blindness, he looks straight at Stark. "The question that we need to answer here, today, is what do your organizations want from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters?"

"Nothing," Coulson answers. "We're interested in the X-Men."

"I'm not aware of any organization by that name," Murdock says.

"It's the team of mutant crime-fighters that live in this house," Coulson says.

"I reiterate that I am not aware of any such organization, Mr. Coulson."

"Mr. Murdock, this school has been under observation for some time. I'm sure you're aware it was co-founded by notorious terrorist Erik Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto." Wanda and Pietro look uncomfortable hearing their father described this way.

"Certainly. But Dr. Xavier and Mr. Lehnsherr had a parting of minds over forty years ago and Mr. Lehnsherr has had no part in the school since then. And we have freedom of assembly in the United States, sir. The first amendment assures us of this."

"This connection, though," Coulson continues, "has of course caused some concern that the school could be a training camp for terrorists."

"Is this an accusation?" Murdock asks.

"No. I'm merely explaining that we observed this school closely. So we know, for example, that the school has a hidden jet underneath the basketball court."

"Yes, the air strip is hidden. I'm given to understand that the school is built in the Edwardian style and jets would clash."

Xavier chuckles in Scott's mind. "Coulson didn't expect us to admit that," he says. "He's off balance now."

"Yes," Murdock says. "The school has a private jet. Dr. Xavier is disabled and rich. He chooses not to fly commercial. Mr. Summers and Ms. Munroe have pilot's licenses and flight plans are filed as appropriate."

"Well," Coulson says. "The bottom line is that we're aware of the X-Men."

"Again, I'm not aware of any such entity." Murdock is unflappable. So is Coulson. Stark, though, is already getting twitchy.

"Do you want to join us or not?" Stark bursts out.

Coulson gives him a calm little look and says, "To clarify, Mr. Stark is inquiring whether any teachers or students at the school are interested in joining the Avengers."

"My client has informed me that if any of his students or colleagues are interested, they will contact you."

"Fine, so we're done, let's go," Stark says, standing up.

Rhodes grabs Stark's sleeve and pulls him down. "We're not done. This school has been engaging in vigilante activities, Mr. Murdock. What does your client say to that?"

"My client has retained me as his attorney to represent him in all civil and criminal matters. Is this a criminal or a civil matter, Colonel Rhodes?"

"Like talking to a god damn Furby," Stark mutters loudly.

Dr. Richards breaks in then. "Tony. Come on. Look, we worked with--with people who live at the school--in a matter earlier, where we all rescued a little girl. Is the girl all right?"

"Foggy?" Murdock turns to Nelson.

Nelson consults a file folder. "Charles Xavier has been fully vetted by the state. The school has a long history of rescuing young people from untenable or abusive situations. Xochitl Dominguez, age eight, killed her mother with her mutant powers. Ruled accidental, no charges filed. No father found. Custody transferred to Charles Xavier on May 10, 2008." He looks up. "She's okay, more or less. Grieving."

"How many children does Xavier have custody of?" Coulson asks.

Scott answers. "Xochitl, Jesse, Quentin, Artie, Jubilee, Anastasia, and me, when I was underage."

Coulson gives Scott a long look, then turns back to Murdock. "Just one more thing, Mr. Murdock. The Avengers are a lawfully established law enforcement organization. While self-defense is perfectly legal, assault is still assault, trespassing is still trespassing, and murder is murder."

"Are you making an accusation, Mr. Coulson?" Murdock isn't shaken an inch.

"No. Not at all."

"Are there any further points to raise?"

"What is your beef with me?" Stark demands. He's looking at Scott. "Do I smell?"

"Please direct your questions to me," Murdock says.

"It's all right," Scott says. "You're an armaments manufacturer, Mr. Stark."

Scott pauses as Stark protests, "Was. Was. I had a change of heart."

Scott continues. "When I was fifteen, I was kidnapped from my school and held, blind, without explanation, in a glass cage, for a month. Apart from a source of water and a toilet, the only identifiable thing in my cell was a shell casing." Scott swallows. He doesn't speak about this often. It's not a story he ever wants to tell the kids. "I kept it, when we escaped. I guess it was proof that it really happened. I'm sure you've guessed by now that when I looked up what kind of bullet it was, it was made by Stark Industries. So it's not, strictly speaking, personal, Mr. Stark, but I have trouble believing that we're on the same side."

He folds his hands in front of him on the table. Stark doesn't say a word.

Coulson clears his throat. "Mr. Summers, I would like to look into this, if you could give me some more details."

"You said you have Stryker's papers, sir. It should all be in there."

"I see. I apologize for your mistreatment, Mr. Summers."

"Thank you." It's hollow. He's never going to trust this man. They're never going to work together.

"I would not ask that of you," Xavier says in his mind.

"I think that's enough," Coulson says. "We'll try not to trouble you again."

When they leave, Scott retreats to his room and rests a cold pack on his head. He wants Jean to rub his head, can almost feel it, her short sensible nails and strong doctor's fingers. But he's alone.


	24. Magneto.

*

Duncan's checking ownership on other buildings in his neighborhood when he receives an email on his phone.

_Requesting the pleasure of your company in the Starbucks on the corner. -A friend._

Interesting. A mutant? An immortal? He forwards the email to Methos as he walks down the street, and Methos immediately responds: _Come home, you nitwit._

 _I thought you knew me better than that,_ Duncan responds.

When he enters the cafe, it's not obvious who he's meeting--until he sees a white-haired man in a smart suit, one eye hidden by his hat, the other on Duncan. Duncan sits at the table with him.

"Duncan MacLeod?" the man asks.

"Erik Lehnsherr?" Duncan inquires.

"I see my reputation precedes me. As does yours, interestingly."

"It always has," Duncan says.

"Will you walk with me?"

"Certainly."

They're followed by a man and a woman, but Duncan doesn't feel it's a threat. He has a lot of experience with truces. "You've taken up Professor Xavier's cause without fully considering his position," Lehnsherr says.

"It's not a complicated position," Duncan says. "Peace and growth in the face of fear and hatred."

"Quailing before our oppressors. I was born in a Polish ghetto. My family hid in a Catholic pigsty but the Nazis found us anyway. They took us to Auschwitz."

"I was born in the highlands of Scotland. We were ground down for centuries, but we rose up under Prince Charles. We lost, and the English murdered us, crushed our clans, banned our language, and beat us down so that we never rose again."

Lehnsherr is silent for a moment. "I didn't take you for a coward, Mr. MacLeod."

"I'm not. I fought in the Rising, I fought in the war of American independence, I fought Napoleon, I fought in World War I. I fought in World War II in the French Resistance. But war is the last resort, after all the other options have failed."

"They have failed," Lehnsherr says.

"I'm not convinced of that. M-Town is a ghetto, but ghettos turn into neighborhoods, and minorities blend into the majority. I married a man last year and adopted a daughter. I couldn't have done that ten years ago."

"A mutant daughter, I understand."

"Yes. And she doesn't pass. I have a stake in this fight. I would have a stake even if she did. I have no intention of backing down or giving in, but I have no intention of escalating either," Duncan says.

"Misguided, but not a coward," Lehnsherr says. "Charles is the same. You're well matched. I hope we will not come to blows." Lehnsherr stops and offers his hand.

Duncan shakes his hand. "I hope the same."

"And--mazel tov, on the occasion of your marriage."

"Thank you."

They part at the corner. The man and woman follow Lehnsherr. The woman stares at Duncan with yellow eyes.

He calls Methos. "I'm all right."

"You won't be when I get through with you. Tell me you were at least armed?"

"I was. Not that a sword would be any good against who I just met." He doesn't want to say the name aloud.

Methos understands, of course. He groans.

"He just wanted to meet me," Duncan says. "Understand the new player. I'm glad to have met him, for the same reason. He felt--familiar. I've met men like him before."

Methos says, slowly, "Are we changing sides?"

"We?"

"I don't want to be a single parent."

"You trust me to make this decision?"

"I've trusted you with my life since the day we met."

The simple statement makes his heart flip in his chest. "I love you too, old man."

They're both silent for a moment, listening to each other breathe.

"I'll be home for dinner," Duncan says. "We're on the right side. For now."

*


	25. Child.

*

In September, one year later, they erect Jean's memorial stone in the garden.

Scott misses her so badly he can't even speak. Ororo sits beside him and holds his hand silently.

There's a ring on her finger. When Scott looks down, she inhales in a horrified rush. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Do Muslim and Catholic ceremonies mix?" Scott asks. He swallows down the lump in his throat. Ororo and Kurt have been courting since they met.

"I don't know. I've never been to either. I'm sorry, I meant to announce it later."

"I'm happy for you," Scott manages. He kisses her on the cheek. Ororo is like his sister. He loves her. He thinks sweet, shy Kurt can make her happy. He thinks if he tries to smile, he's going to throw up, or maybe just scream.

He rests his head on her shoulder and she strokes his hair.

*

Half the school takes Spanish from Methos. He tutors Xochitl in English, Jubilee in Mandarin, and Quentin in French and German, but the vast majority of the children who elect to learn a language see the utility of Spanish.

Today, Methos has enlisted Rictor to read aloud. The boy has a beautiful clear accent and a precocious love of Isabel Allende. Beside Methos, Xochitl is reading the English translation. She's learning fast.

Rictor is nearly finished when Methos feels Presence. Duncan is out on a mission with Logan and Narantuyaa, Grace is in New York City, and Hero is right in front of him. She looks up, too. Methos looks out the window and sees a car coming up the drive. It's not Grace's car; it's a flashy little sports car. "Professor," he thinks as loudly as he can.

The intercom buzzes on. "Children, prepare for evacuation. This is not a drill. Stand by the emergency exits. Staff to the front of the school."

Methos runs for Annie. "Kids, move, move, move!"

The children line up by the secret panels. This has all been planned in advance. Jean-Paul has Annie; he nods to Methos. "Good boy. Good girl," Methos says to them, and then he heads downstairs.

Scott, Xavier, and, against orders, Peter, Xochitl, and Hero are waiting at the front door. "Children! Line up with the others," Xavier orders.

"No!" Xochitl yells.

"Everyone else is out," Peter says. He pulls Xochitl behind him and backs up slowly, pretending to obey.

Hero just looks out the front window. Methos joins her. "I don't have my gun," Hero says.

"We'll take care of it. Go join the other kids."

"Kid?" She ignores him and stays.

"Come on." Scott opens the door.

The car pulls up in front of the school, passenger side facing them. A small, blond figure gets out.

"Oh, no way," Methos says.

"I heard this was a safe place for Immortals," Kenneth says. His hair is long and boyish; he's in his innocent drag. He pulls a backpack out of the car and Methos is certain there's at least one gun inside. Warning shivers run up and down Methos's spine. He's not letting this creature near his daughter.

"You heard correctly," Xavier says. He gives Kenneth a welcoming smile.

Methos pulls Scott to him by the back of the sweater. "Do not trust this creature. He almost killed MacLeod," he mutters.

"That little boy?"

Kenneth was around eleven when he died. He should never have survived. The only reason he has is that he's a vicious and conscienceless killer. "The little boy is eight hundred years old and a murderer a dozen times over!" Methos hisses. "No honor and no soul!"

"Come inside," Xavier says.

Kenneth shifts from foot to foot, his backpack in front of him. "I want to know who else is here."

"Adam of Chicago," Methos says, stepping into view. "Monica of New Jersey. Logan of Canada. Natalie of California. Grace of Normandy. And Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Nice to meet you at last, Kenneth."

He narrows his eyes at Kenneth. Kenneth smirks in response. They understand each other perfectly well.

"None of them will hurt you. I do not allow violence here." Xavier backs up his chair. "Adam, go inside and tell the children to stand down."

Methos thinks about small blond children stabbing the staff in the backs as loudly as he can, but he turns away. "Back to class, back to class!" he calls up the stairs, jogging up to his classroom. "False alarm!"

Peter and Hero follow. Xochitl stares fiercely out the window. "He tried to kill Highlander," Xochitl snarls in Spanish.

Methos stops in the landing and walks back down the stairs. "What was that, Xochitl?"

She looks up at him wildly. "That boy tried to kill Highlander!" she yells in English, pointing at Kenneth as he walks through the door.

"He tried to kill me first!" Kenneth cries in response.

Xochitl clenches her fists. Her eyes widen, and Methos swears he can see them glow. "Xochitl, stop!" Methos says.

Peter grabs her around both arms and runs her out into the driveway. There's a pause--and then a bright light, carrying the explosion on its heels. Methos recoils into Hero and they both fall against the stairs. He is curled around her protectively.

When Methos risks a glance, he sees Bobby in the doorway, hands still outstretched, his arms encased in ice to the elbow. "Holy shit," Bobby says. "I think--I think I have it."

"Everyone okay?" Scott asks. He sits up with his eyes screwed shut.

"Yeah." Hero looks up at Methos; he lets her go. "Thanks," she whispers.

"Someone find my glasses, stat," Scott says. He's patting the floor around him. Hero plucks them off an upper stair.

Kenneth jumps up and shakes his head. "You're just like I thought! I'm outta here." He books for the door, but stops on the front porch. "Shit!"

Xavier is knocked over on his back, Methos sees finally. He was tumbled clear out of his chair and his legs are folded awkwardly akimbo over his chest. Hero is straightening him out. Methos gets up and rights his wheelchair. He offers his hand to Xavier; Xavier takes it and nods, and Methos lifts him into his arms. He weighs so little. His legs are like two tree branches, hinged in the middle. Methos settles him in the chair again. Then he looks outside.

A metal figure walks towards the school, a small figure in his arms. His shiny skin is fogged over with black char. The ground below them is black, each footstep turning over white gravel in the stone garden. The trees are blackened, leafless, and smoking.

"Shit!" Kenneth shouts again. His car is scorched, the tires melted, the seats burned down to the metal frame. "You did this on purpose!" His voice is high-pitched and breaks on the last word.

Peter glances down at Kenneth as he passes him, Xochitl cradled in his arms. She is unharmed by her own firestorm.

Kenneth turns and glares up at Methos.

"My child. We did not do this on purpose, and you are entirely safe here," Xavier says. "Xochitl had an accident with her powers. Many of us do. Here, we learn to control and use our powers."

"I'm not a child. I'm eight hundred years old! Yeah, I tried to kill MacLeod, because he tried to kill me first." Kenneth marches up to Xavier, challenging him. "Can you keep them off me? Do you think you're strong enough? They all want my head! They think that because I'm small, I'm weak and I'm easy pickings, and then they call me a monster when I'm not! What do you think you're up for, _son_?"

They see eye to eye, man in a wheelchair and boy of eleven. "I think I'm strong enough for anything," Xavier says. "Let's find you a room."

*

When Peter steps out of the shower, Angel is in the room. "How bad is my hair?" he asks Angel as he pulls on some shorts.

Angel gives him the thumbs-down. "Battle damage, huh," Peter says. He shrugs and grabs his shaving kit.

It's pretty bad, he finds out when he looks in the mirror. The front is all bald so he looks like his uncle Misha, and the back is pretty patchy too. He sighs and starts taking it all off.

"Hero thinks," Angel says from the bathroom door. There's a long pause. Peter waits without looking at him. "Hero thinks the new kid is bad news," Angel says.

"Maybe. Dani was bad news when she first came, because she gave us nightmares with her powers, but we all love her now."

"They kill each other," Angel says in a rush, all in one breath. He flops back against the wall so all Peter can see is his fluttering wings in the doorway.

"The Professor won't let them," Peter says.

Angel's wings flap convulsively, bonking against the wood paneled walls. When Peter goes to bed--and his head feels _cold_ with no hair--Angel is resting on the bed across from him, curled up on top of the blankets.

*

Seven Immortals in one house. The last time Duncan saw a congregation like this, it was the de Valicourts' 200th wedding anniversary.

Methos wedges a chair under the door, frowns, and starts shifting the desk instead. "Don't," Duncan says.

"That little rat wants your head. He was Amanda's student, I'll bet he can pick locks." Methos heaves the desk in front of the door and slams it firmly flush with the wall.

"We have to learn to trust each other or this will never work."

Methos snorts. "There's trust and then there's trust. We have a kid." He crosses to the crib and checks on Annie, who's sleeping soundly.

"I'm pretty sure we can take him."

"Asleep?"

Duncan sighs. "Are you even able to be beheaded with that metal in your bones?"

Methos looks at his hands. He flexes, slides the knives from his skin with a wince. "My spine is covered, that's right. But my brain is still vulnerable through my eye sockets or soft palate. And I like you the height you are now."

"Come here." Duncan opens his arms.

"I'm not dancing with you with Annie in the room."

"I just want a hug after a long day at the office."

Methos snorts but obliges. His muscles are a mass of knots. Duncan strokes the length of his spine, but Methos keeps one fist propped under his chin.

When Duncan awakens, in the cold darkness before dawn, Methos is sitting up in bed beside him. His eyes are red and his face is drawn.

"Right," Duncan says. "We're going to the city. It's time you saw our building anyway."

"Our?"

Duncan slaps his bottom. "I did marry you. It's legal and everything."

"I own half your art collection?"

"If I own half your diaries."

"Oh. Hm."

"Lay your head and think it over," Duncan says, pulling Methos's head down to his shoulder. "I'll keep watch."

*

Dani cracks the math books in the back garden alongside Kitty. They're both starting calculus. Scott teaches math concepts a few students at a time and then gives them problem sets to work on individually.

Almost everyone had a hard time in school before they got here, between bullying, stressing over hiding their powers, or worse, not passing like Marrow or Artie, or worse than that, being an orphan and homeless like Jubilee. So students are all over the place in the school. Hero is awesome but she's working on long division with Monet, who's six. Quentin is some kind of baby genius and is taking college courses in differentials and mechanical engineering. The twins are completely backwards, still at the fifth grade level, just because they can't sit still and do the work. They're not going to graduate on time if they don't figure it out.

And then there's Kenny. He's looking out the kitchen window at them. "He freaks me out," Kitty whispers to Dani.

"Oh my god, racist. Just think of him like a dwarf. You like Peter Dinklage."

"But he's not a dwarf, he's a kid!"

"He's eight hundred years old! Hello, mutant school, you have to adapt!" Dani whispers.

"But I bet he doesn't have grass on the field."

Dani is kicking her sideways, laughing and saying "Racist! Racist!" when Kenny walks outside.

"Hi, girls," Kenny says. "It's Kitty, right? And Dani." His clothes look older than when he arrived. It's like he's borrowing clothes from Scott, except that they're all child-sized. Damn, Kitty's right. It is hard to think of him as an adult.

"Yeah," Dani answers. Kitty can't look straight at him.

"So whatcha doing?" Kenny asks. He sits next to Kitty. His feet barely touch the ground.

"Math," Dani says.

"You kids are all really smart here."

"Most of us, yeah," Dani says.

"I didn't learn to read until I was 400 years old. Nobody could read when I was a kid. So I didn't get to be smart like you girls. I had to be street smart instead. I used to be a bare-knuckle boxer," he says, cocking his head and looking smug. "I can lick guys 50 pounds heavier than me." Dani gets a flash of emotion from him: He's showing off, trying to impress Kitty. He _wants_ her.

It was a joke earlier but now it's serious. "Oh, crap, I forgot my calculator," Dani says, nudging her backpack closed so her calculator doesn't show. "Kitty, we have to go back to the room. Bye, Kenny!" She grabs the book and her bag in one hand and takes Kitty's arm with the other.

Kenny frowns, but whatever. Once they're back in their room, Dani tells Kitty, "He wants to hook up with you. Not joking."

Kitty makes a face. "That's messed up."

"Yeah, I just--" Dani covers her face, pressing her hands into her eyeballs. "Oh God, let me stop thinking about his boy parts!"

*


	26. Inevitable.

*

The building looks good. It makes Duncan proud to be a landlord. The street door now locks, requiring a code for entry. The windows all have safety bars--it hurts him that this is necessary, but it's like door locks these days--and the brick had been repointed. The maintenance woman he hired keeps the building spotless and the alleys and sidewalks reasonably filth-free. Right now, she's hosing down the front sidewalk. She nods to Duncan as he gets out of the cab. Arclight is a tall, taciturn woman with an androgynous look and a classic duck's ass haircut.

"Water!" Annie cries. She squirms toward the hose, but Duncan and Methos both have her by the hand.

"Not in your clothes." Methos sweeps her up in his arms, ignoring her struggles. She wails and reaches upside-down for the hose.

Arclight shuts off the hose and Annie sobs. "Mornin', boss."

"Good morning. You haven't met my husband yet, Adam, and our daughter. Can you say good morning, Annie?"

"No!" she sobs, kicking her feet. The look on Arclight's face says this is why she doesn't have any kids.

"I think we'll just go up to the roof."

The elevator works and is beautifully clean. They get out on the fifth floor, Annie still fussing shrilly, and climb up to the roof. Up top, it's industrial, but that has its own charm. The building dates from the 1930s. Good, solid construction. "We're real estate entrepreneurs," Duncan says to Methos. "I want to buy the building next door and work to get some mutant-owned businesses in. Also, a club. I think that old Gap store is perfect." He points to the next block down. "There has to be some music coming out of this. Do you remember Harlem jazz?"

"Of course. Charming, Duncan." Methos joggles Annie and smiles.

"What do you think, Arclight? You're young."

She steps out of the doorway, looking startled. "Ye-ah. Didn't mean to spy, boss." She rubs the back of her neck.

"The old Gap has good sturdy construction. I'm thinking stage on the ground floor, dancing above, and the bar and chill-out DJ below. But I'm not sure; the bass penetrates downward. I'll have to check the soundproofing. Maybe stage below, bar on top, but then of course you get people falling down the stairs." Duncan wiggles his hand.

"Amanda owned a club in Paris. Get her in for advice," Methos offers.

"Are there a lot of mutant bands, Arclight?"

"Yeah, shitloads. But most venues don't like 'em because we ain't got any money to spend on beer. No money and plenty rowdy, lots of bad elements, boss."

"Good. People need an outlet. This country is too buttoned down."

Arclight's mouth twitches. She glances at Annie. "Not what I thought you were like, boss."

"You don't know much about me. I'd put in a cathouse if I could," Duncan says. Methos laughs, and Annie laughs because her daddy is laughing. Arclight's eyebrows twist up with incredulity. "I'm older than the Puritans. They always bugged me."

Arclight bites her lip, looking at him. Duncan answers her question before she asks. "I'm 415 years old last birthday."

"Shit," she says softly. She glances at Methos.

"He's a little bit older."

"I heard there were old ones," Arclight says. "I heard maybe the old ones secretly rule the world."

"No," Methos says. "He can't even rule our child. Can he, my love? Can he?" Methos dangles Annie upside down, making her squeal happily.

Duncan watches them fondly, then shakes his head at Arclight. "I'm no king. Just a man who made some money and wants to feed it back to the community."

"Shit, boss, for a minute you had me thinking I was a henchman." She snorts and looks over at the next building. "You like art? My girlfriend's an artist."

"I love art," Duncan says.

*

"So," Charles says. "I would like to speak with you about your place at this school." He leaves himself open to any thoughts or emotion Kenneth might project. He's already checked the boy for treachery and found nothing but suspicion and fear. He is not a spy, but rather a very old child.

"Hadn't thought that far," Kenneth says. "I don't make plans. They always get broken." Defensiveness radiates from him in sharp waves. It's a familiar emotion.

"Well, perhaps now is a good time. You're welcome to rest here, take a breather. Then if you turn out to be suited to teaching--"

Kenneth snorts loudly. "No."

"All right," Charles says. "Or if you wish to be a student--"

"No!"

"Well, we are a school. I'm afraid our horizons are rather limited."

"Yeah. No problem," Kenneth says. "I just need to rest. Refuel a little, right. And then go."

His mind is dark, suspicious. No different than many children that come here. With a little more time, he'll open up, Charles is sure of this. Kenneth leaves his office with a smile on his small face.

*

They take Annie for a run in Central Park. That is, she runs, and Duncan lounges in the grass with Methos's head in his lap. "I can't believe I was ever that age," Duncan says. She's on a child leash, and he's holding the lead, watching her chase butterflies.

"I can't believe I was ever _your_ age," Methos says.

They both feel Presence at the same time and look in different directions. "Connor!" Duncan calls.

"How pastoral you look!" Connor crosses the park, paper bag in one hand, still in his 20th century costume of trench coat and white Converse sneakers. His cousin was never one for fashion. Annie runs up to him. He takes her by the hand and Connor sits down on the blanket while Annie climbs into Methos's lap. "So you're the one who domesticated my kinsman," Connor says to Methos.

"I successfully applied the ball and chain, yes."

"We've met before, I think."

"Ah, yes, when you were with Ramirez. It must have been before Duncan was even born."

"Aye. I picked up this cherub after Heather died." Connor crosses himself, then reaches over and pinches Duncan's cheek. Duncan swats his hand away.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Annie says, tugging on Methos's lip.

"Annie, this is Connor," Duncan says. "Uncle Connor."

Annie looks at him. "Katana," she says, with perfect Japanese inflection, and then turns back to Methos and tugs on his lip again. Connor laughs.

The bag holds red wine, bread, olives, and a wedge of cheese. Methos has a container of sashimi for Annie. "What do you go by these days?" Connor asks Methos.

"Adam. Adam Pierson. Do you think I should change my name to Adam MacLeod?" Methos turns large, innocent eyes on Duncan.

"No," Duncan says without hesitation. "I forbid it. I'm divorcing you once the baby is grown." They're not the de Valicourts. Methos won't put up with him any longer than that.

"Romance is dead." Methos pokes a finger full of soft cheese into Annie's mouth. She accepts, thinks about it, and spits it out into the grass. "My real name is Methos," he says, almost offhand. Duncan is amazed.

Connor laughs. "The other one has got bells on."

"He is, though," Duncan says, slightly offended on Methos's behalf.

"I know you. You can't sucker me. Methos," Connor scoffs. He pours the wine. When Duncan looks at Methos, his eyes are crinkled in a hearty, silent laugh. Oh, cousin, Duncan thinks, and files this away for future, endless teasing.

"What are you doing for a job, Connor?" Duncan asks.

"Writing a book on medieval combat. All the popular ones are wrong. And then I will book a tour with a trebuchet, maybe."

"Want to run a mutant disco?"

"I hadn't considered it."

"Beautiful women with stripes or horns," Duncan says, making antler shapes with his fingers on his forehead. "I'm investing. I need someone to keep out the bad elements, keep the tone right."

"Huh," Connor says.

"It'll be fun."

"Oh, now I know your game! Every time you say that, you have all the fun and I do all the work! Not this time, cousin!" Connor says. But Duncan knows the tilt of his head and the crinkle of his cousin's eye; he's already won.

*

Logan bounces on his toes, trying to apply the schooling he got from Adam in their one fight. Let her attack, right.

Naraa kicks him under the chin; he slashes at her leg; she minces his arm in return. "Goddamn it, that stings," Logan says, stepping back.

Naraa steps up close to him and curls an arm around his neck. Her other hand goes to Logan's throat. "You surrender?"

"You gonna make me?"

She hops up and circles his waist with her legs. "Yes," she says.

"Oh." Hell, he doesn't know what to say to that. "Okay."

Naraa grins and kisses him. "I want a shower first. My room in... 45 minutes."

"Long shower."

She grins wider. She pats his cheek as she steps away from him.

"Forty-five minutes," he repeats.

"You've got it."

His own shower takes five minutes. Then... hmm, he could use a beer. He heads up to the kitchen.

He's onto a good thing here. Good woman, good situation, good people around him. How the hell a guy like him happened into this, he does not know, but he'll hang onto it with both hands and all six claws. He pops the cap with his index finger and enjoys a golden beverage.

"Good evening, sir."

Why can he never have a beer in peace? It's the junior immortal. Logan tips his beer to the kid. "Don't call me sir. Seriously. You're probably older than me anyway."

"Habit." Kenny takes a seat next to him at the kitchen island. "You have to learn a lot of things when you're a kid on your own."

"I bet."

"The 1800s were the easiest, up until the mandatory school laws. I spent a lot of time in London. If you can't get hurt or sick, you can make good money as a thief there."

"Huh," Logan says.

"I've been thinking about what to do next. You know, with my life. I have forever."

Logan downs half the bottle. The kid creeps him out a little, not least because he doesn't act one way or the other. Not a child, not a man. He rests his chin on his hand. "I don't know. I'm working on that one myself."

"Yeah, I noticed. I watch people," Kenny says, laying his finger alongside his nose.

Logan's eyes slip shut. Pain twists his gut.

"Like, I noticed you're the only one who drinks the beer."

Logan slumps onto the counter.

*

Methos heads back to the hotel--it's baby's bedtime--and Duncan meets Arclight at her girlfriend's studio. It's in College Point, a very industrial area with lots of space. "My girl has family money," Arclight says, smiling almost embarrassedly. "She pays for dates and shit."

Outside the studio door, the music is muffled but ear-splitting. Rather than knocking, Arclight pulls out her phone and texts. The music stops. A moment later, a woman answers the door. "Hey, baby, this is my boss," Arclight says.

The woman nods. "Come in."

She introduces herself as Elektra. She's tall and angular like Arclight, but not as gender-bending. She wears her hair in long curls. "I work with balance," she says. It's obvious from her work. Her creations are warm-toned metal sculptures, ranging from a table of small shapes that remind him of weapons to a twelve-foot-tall monster peeking over a screen in the back. "I like it," Duncan says, taken by a sculpture of two forms defined in the negative space of a grid of brass nailheads. The shapes are only visible from certain angles. They disappear and reappear, one at a time, as he moves.

"Elektra's not a mutant, but she's cool," Arclight says,

"These days I feel more at home with mutants than with my fellow flatscans," Elektra says. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against a wall between a pair of sai. Maybe the resemblance of the small sculptures to weapons isn't an accident.

She's standing next to the large sculpture hidden by the screen. Duncan takes the cue and walks behind the screen. And oh, God, he loves it.

Two figures again, abstract, in a warm red-burnished metal. They're both in poses he thinks he recognizes as karate and kung fu, but both are in defensive posts. The sense of movement is palpable. Duncan almost expects to have to duck. And--this becomes clear as he looks at it with a warrior's eye--though they're both in defensive poses, if they were in motion, they would continue fighting. They would break and bleed and possibly die. But the figures don't want to. There's a closeness that makes it tragic.

All that, and it's beautiful, too.

"I like the look on your face," Elektra says.

Duncan snaps back to himself. "It's remarkable," he says.

"It's about someone. I can't, you know, actually talk to him."

"I can see that."

"Yeah." She looks at him, smiling slightly. "It's almost done. You can buy it when it is."

They shake hands on it. Afterwards, Duncan spends an enjoyable couple of hours talking metal and negative space and the relationship of weaponry to art. When they leave, Arclight to return home and Duncan to join Methos at the hotel, Arclight says, "Soon as she figures out her thing with that guy, I'm gonna lose one hot girlfriend."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, seize the day, and seize the woman."

Arclight snorts. They bump fists.

*

Narantuyaa wonders if it's the house that encourages you to be fruitful and multiply. She's coupled off with Logan, and she never does that. Spirits help her, when she looks at dear little Annie, she even nearly wants kids.

Nearly. Not sold yet. At least she has a choice, unlike so many of her sisters. She has the freedom to enjoy her body.

And as for that, where is Logan? She said forty-five minutes and it's been over an hour. She slips on her nightgown and robe and goes looking for him.

Grace is reading in the window seat. "Grace, have you seen Logan?"

"No, I'm sorry," Grace says. "Try the little kitchen, he keeps his beer there."

"Right. Goodnight." She heads toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Peter is rinsing a bottle. "Have you seen Logan?" she asks.

"No ma'am, but he left his beer bottle here." He sets it in the recycling. "Maybe the gym?"

"We just finished in the gym." Narantuyaa frowns and looks around the kitchen.

"Garage?"

"Of course."

But the garage is dark and still. Odd. The house is large but so is Logan. She closes the garage door and finds the twins in the garden, packing up their schoolwork. "Have you seen Logan?"

"No," Jean-Paul says.

"And he would know, with his eyes always on the teachers' bottoms," Aurore snipes.

"Bitch!" He pulls her hair. She pinches his nose. He hits her arm with his bound copy of Shakespeare, making her shriek. Narantuyaa clears her throat and they look at her and grab their books without further incident.

Narantuyaa walks out into the garden to clear her head. Living in constant Presence can be neutral or it can be unsettling. Lately, with the new arrival, it's been unsettling. She walks toward the lake, out of range of Grace, Kenny, and Hero, and tries to think.

But then she feels Presence again, out near the lake, away from the house. She feels the wariness rise within her. She clenches her fists, feeling the claws within.

Her feet are silent on the summer grass. Her clinging nightgown barely whispers as she walks. She listens, breathing shallowly, and she hears a sound among the trees. She runs, silently, lightly, clenching her fists. The deep blue evening light sharpens as her eyes adjust. She prepares herself. She sees everything.

She sees the boy, and then she sees Logan. The boy is kneeling by the shallow water. He is chopping at Logan's neck with a butcher knife, his panicked breath hissing between his teeth. There is blood, an ocean of blood, blood lapping among the cattails in the lake. Narantuyaa unsheathes her claws without a word. The boy looks up; he sees her. He dives into the water and swims clumsily in his clothes.

Narantuyaa runs along the wooden platform and dives into the lake. She catches him underwater. When she beheads him, the water raises her up in a geyser, like a river spirit, buoyed beneath the dubious half-moon.

*

The noise brings Scott and Ororo to the lake. They find Narantuyaa coughing on the pier, soaking wet, and Logan--he thinks it's Logan. Scott plays the flashlight over the body and tries not to vomit.

"He's not dead. Not gone. Help him," Narantuyaa says. She rests her head on her folded hands. She's wearing only a drenched nightgown.

"What happened?" Scott asks. Ororo runs back to the house for the doctors.

"The little bastard tried to kill him. He was cutting away at his neck when I found him. Kenneth," she clarifies, spitting the name.

"Kenny?" Scott shines his flashlight up and down the pond, but he can't see anyone else. "Where did he go?"

"I ate his soul," Narantuyaa says. Scott shines the flashlight into her face automatically and she flinches back.

Scott looks back down at Logan. There's something sticking in his eye, like a knife, and another knife lying beside the remains of his throat. Logan's neck is nothing but bloody bone tangled with meat and metal. Blood soaks his clothes and the ground all around him.

Ororo returns with Grace and Kurt and a stretcher. "I thought I felt a quickening," Grace says. "What happened?"

"I took his head. I'm not sorry. The fight was fair." Narantuyaa jumps into the shallow water. She wades a few feet, bends down, and comes up with Kenny's head, clutching it by the hair. That's when Scott loses his stomach.

*

The butcher knife in his eye shattered inside his head. Grace pulls out fragments with her longest forceps. It's a kind of trance, surgery; she doesn't think of anything but the feet of the metal inside his head.

She doesn't notice when she pulls the first adamantium bullet out of his head. She notices on the second because it's the last piece. She gives it a long, puzzled look as she sets it down, and then washes the blood out of Logan's hair. He's already starting to heal.

*

Logan is clean and Grace is in a plastic chair, sipping coffee, when Narantuyaa enters the room. "Goodbye," she says.

"You did what is right," Grace says.

Narantuyaa only looks at Logan. "Tell him we'll meet again. I'm sure of it." She turns and leaves.

*

Logan wakes up feeling like refried dog shit. He groans.

"Welcome back," Grace says. She holds the back of her hand to his forehead.

Logan just groans again. "How much did I drink?"

"Oh, Logan, you've had quite a day," she says, smoothing her palm over his face. "Rest."

But he can't. There's a tickling in his limbs. It feels like electrical shocks, and it makes him rub his hands together, but that makes it worse. It climbs up his shoulders and into his neck. "Grace--" he starts to say.

Fire. Fire. Fire from the bottom of his feet to the top of his skull. He's thrashing on the bed. He grabs for Grace, falls off the bed, pounds the floor, loses himself.

He comes back to himself panting on the floor. He's been sick again; he's always sick. "Mama?" he asks. Mama makes it better.

"Logan?"

Cool hand on his forehead. He's so tired. He wants to get back into bed, but he's exhausted, and he falls back asleep right there on the pinewood floor.

*

Duncan and Methos return to the school in the morning. Methos seems relaxed, and that is a good thing. Nothing worse than a jumpy Methos, Duncan thinks.

The house is strangely shuttered when they pull up. The security gate is still closed over the front windows; Scott hasn't made his rounds. Methos frowns. He carries Annie into the house, even though she's squirming with the fidgets.

They find Scott in the lounge with his visor off, for probably the first time since Duncan has been in the house, and a cold pack in a kitchen towel over his eyes. "We're back," Duncan says in a low murmur.

"Morning. Sorry, migraine."

"Ah," Methos says. "Come, my love, let's go see what Monet is doing."

"MONET!" Annie says in a piercing shriek. Scott winces.

"Let's do it quickly," Methos mutters, jogging up the stairs.

"Sorry about that," Duncan says softly.

"It's okay," Scott says. "She's three. Duncan, Logan got his memory back and Narantuyaa killed Kenneth."

"Oh, hell." Duncan sits down in the armchair.

Methos catapults down the stairs. "I told you so!" he shouts under his breath. "I did! I told you! I fucking told you that little shit was trouble and here we are!"

Duncan looks at him.

"Look, sometimes I have to say it!" Methos says.

"You really are an asshole."

"And I'm always fucking right about people, Highlander."

"No, you're not."

"Guys," Scott says. He rubs his temples.

Duncan shuts his mouth and glares at Methos. Methos folds his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrows. Duncan shakes his head.

The elevator door opens. "Scott, go to bed," Xavier says.

"Can't, professor."

"How's Logan?" Duncan asks. "What happened?"

"Kenneth attempted to behead Logan. Narantuyaa discovered Kenneth in the act and killed him instead. In the process of repairing the damage Kenneth did to Logan, Grace managed to reverse his memory loss. Right now..." Xavier's eyes close briefly. "He thinks Grace is his mama and is asking her for water."

"That's sweet. A hallucinating, heavily armed, indestructible man," Scott says.

"Rogue is joining Grace as we speak. If necessary, she can pin him via his metal skeleton."

Scott frowns. "I didn't think of that," he says.

"No."

Scott sighs. "Okay, so it's covered. Can you give me a hand, Duncan? I don't want to open my eyes." He winces every time he moves. Clearly the pain is worse than he's letting on. Duncan wouldn't know; he's never had a headache. He stands and touches Scott's arm, gently, and lifts Scott to his feet when he takes his hand.

They take the elevator up, Duncan resting his hand on Scott's shoulder and working the buttons, Scott holding the cold pack to his eyes with his visor slung around his forearm. "He looked ten. I know he wasn't, but--" Scott winces, resettling the towel.

"I know. He tried to do me in twice and I still gave him another chance."

"Because he was ten, forever. A ten year old with eight hundred years experience. We're not ready for this," Scott whispers.

The elevator opens. Duncan helps him to his room. He pulls the blackout curtains; Scott settles down with a sigh.

*

Mother.

She's dead in her blood. And Father, too, and Mr. Creed. And Victor is with him.

He dreams of a tent buried in snow. He's together with Victor. "Forever, little brother," Victor says.

"Forever," Jimmy says.

Victor slices both their thumbs with his claw. Later, he'll call himself Sabretooth. Right now, he's just a child, and he presses his thumb to his brother Jimmy's, and there's a spark when their blood mingles. Neither of them know what it means.

Later, Jimmy will call himself Logan, and he'll take a bowie knife to the aorta in a bar fight and die for the first time. Later, Victor will take a rifle shot to the stomach and bleed out over his brother's body, having taken out his brother's killer and five more besides. They'll wake up together in the pig barn and boot the omnivorous hogs in the snout.

Later they will figure out what they are and what this means. Later, they'll join the army and fight again and again and again. Later, an immortal will challenge Victor and get the surprise of his life when Logan stabs him in the neck from behind.

Later, they will share a quickening. Neither will understand. Victor enjoys it. Logan doesn't. Later, they will disagree seriously for the first time. The quickening energy will give Logan a new sensitivity. The quickening energy will give Victor a new brutality. They will fight, and Logan will walk away, and nobody will ever call him Jimmy again.

But right now the boys are pressing their thumbs together and a spark is sealing them together. "Forever," Victor says.

*


	27. Victor.

*

Logan wakes up. "Victor," he whispers.

He sits up. Grace is there beside him, curled up in a chair. She looks up. "Logan. What year is it?"

2008\. Oh, fuck. Victor. Africa. Stryker. Claws. Helicopter. Explosion. Bullet. Gambit. Wade. Fred. John. Kayla. "Kayla," he says.

"Logan?"

"Kayla! I forgot her. I forgot her!" He extends his claws, breathing hard, thinking only Kayla, Kayla, Kayla. "Stryker!"

"He's not here!"

He extends his arms, his claws, and arches his back and bellows at the top of his lungs. Grief. Rage. He has to let it out.

He collapses back, pressing his palms to his face. Grace touches him with a small, cool hand on his head.

Grace gets on the horn. "He's himself, Professor," she says.

*

Logan doesn't want to see the Professor, but he'll see Scott. Scott gets him.

"How long were you together?"

"Three years. I was a frigging lumberjack and she was a mechanic. Fixed my truck."

"What was she like?"

"Perfect." It's present for him. Smell of her clothes sound of her voice feel of her skin. Her smile. Her death. It may have been twenty years but you can't grieve what you can't remember. "Naraa. What do I tell Naraa?"

Scott grimaces. "She left, Logan. She had to. She killed Kenneth. We would have let her stay long enough to say goodbye but she wouldn't; she left not even an hour later."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

The world is a big place. He'll never find her.

"Man, I'm sorry," Scott says.

"I know." Logan rubs his head. He feels like two people, one overlapping with the other, both him; the person he was before he got shot in the head, and the person he was afterwards. "I'm gonna leave for a while."

"We need you," Scott says.

"I can't get my head on straight when I'm surrounded by kids."

Rogue goes with him. Babysitter, he thinks, and he doesn't mean himself.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Logan and Rogue's road trip will be found in a subsequent story. It didn't fit into this one.


	28. Simple.

*

The school has classes year-round and formally accepts students quarterly. In the past, this has been a quiet process, as they tend to take in students on an emergency basis, like Xochitl. But this year, Scott has _ten_ application envelopes in his hand, with five more on Xavier's desk. What happened?

"Mandatory genetic testing," Xavier says.

Scott blinks; he wasn't aware he was thinking that loud. "Not federal. Hank would have told us."

"No. Their health insurance company, this one states."

"God dammit. Professor, we can't handle all these kids. We can't handle half these kids."

"We're hiring three more teachers. Ms. Williams was a governess for two hundred years, then a nurse in World War I." Xavier hands him a folder and Scott sits down heavily.

"I can't get used to this," Scott says.

"The other two are more conventional. Ms. Washington was outed as a mutant and fired for 'safety concerns', and Mr. Bobb is an aged hippie like myself."

Scott smiles. He pictures Xavier in long hair and beads. "You were never a hippie."

"Well. It depends upon your definition of the term. I want you to sit in on the final interview, but I think all three will suit. We're also adding a cook, Sam Guthrie's mother. All four of his younger siblings tested positive for the X-gene. She's selling the house to pay for their schooling and moving up with the family to work off the rest."

Scott exhales. Four more Sams.

"We can cope. Duncan has experience with building and will be converting the remainder of the top floor into student rooms. I also thought we might institute a monitoring system, to encourage the older students to care for the younger."

Scott nods. "But that can lead to bullying."

"It can. Do you think it will?"

"Probably not..." But he remembers high school. Bad enough before he knocked down half the school building.

"We're a very different sort of school."

"Idealist."

"Which is why I need so many pragmatists." Xavier smiles and beams approval over him.

*

Visitor. Even before the Professor mentally pages him, Scott is alerted by Rictor running past him and diving into the elevator. Quentin looks up, but doesn't budge from the couch. He's watching the Simpsons.

"Need backup?" Ororo calls down the stairwell.

"Yeah, please. I'm getting the door now!"

"I'm having trouble interpreting his intentions. He's very confused. Be careful," Xavier says in the back of Scott's mind.

When Scott opens the door, he finds an older man in an expensive suit standing there, alone. There's a 2006 Lexus parked in the drive. Scott looks him over--the glasses hiding his eyes make that easy--and sees a Rolex, handmade couture shoes, high-quality silk. He hopes the man is bringing them a donation. "Hi. Welcome to the Academy. Can I help you?" He offers his hand.

The man shakes his hand automatically. He searches Scott's face. "I think so. Yes, I think so! You're a mutant!"

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Yes," he says.

"I'm Warren Worthington."

"Scott Summers. Please, come in."

"Bring him to my study," Xavier says in his head. Ororo looks them over from the stairs, then joins them wordlessly. The Professor greets Worthington at his door; Scott and Worthington sit, while Ororo crosses to the window and leans, watching for trouble. "Welcome to my school," Xavier says.

"I'm Warren Worthington Junior," Worthington says. "I'm looking for my son, Warren Worthington the third." He pulls a large photo out of his breast pocket. The boy is younger, dressed as expensively as his father, and wingless, but it's undoubtedly Angel. Neither Scott nor Xavier react.

"He ran away nearly two years ago, because he's a mutant," Worthington continues. "I never--I wanted to--I think I handled it badly, his being a mutant. I meant to keep him safe, but I don't think he saw it that way. He has wings. I let him know I was looking for surgeons that could remove them, so that he could be normal. And that's when he ran."

"I've alerted Angel," Xavier says in Scott's head. "He's listening. It's his choice." Aloud, Xavier says, "He may have seen that as rejection. Many of our students have been cast out by their parents. Our youngest student is only three years old; her mother killed herself rather than to attempt to continue to care for her."

Worthington drops his head, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I know I got it wrong. I've known that since the night he left. But I can't--I just want to find him." He looks up. "I can tell that you know something. I've been in business all my life and Mr Summers's poker face isn't that good," he says.

Scott bites the inside of his cheeks and looks away. The corner of Ororo's mouth lifts slightly.

"If he doesn't want to see me--can you just tell me if he's all right?"

The door opens. Xavier looks over Worthington's shoulder; Worthington jumps out of his chair. "I'm fine," Angel says.

"Warren--" Worthington takes a step forward, but Angel crosses his wings in front of him. His furious eyes peek over the feathers.

"I'm keeping them," Angel says. Worthington nods.

"Lay it down for him," Hero says from the doorway. Scott can't even see her behind the sweep of Angel's wings.

"I'm in love with her. She rescued me from the streets, and not just me. She's a hero. We're going to get married. And we're going to have babies. Biracial mutant babies," Angel says. Not only is it the most Scott has ever heard him speak, it's probably more than the rest of his speeches put together. "I'm not going to hide away any more. I'm going to stay in school here, and when I get my trust fund, I'm giving it all to Dr. Xavier. So take it or leave it, Dad."

Scott is ashamed that his first thought is "I wonder how much his trust fund is." He glances at the Professor to see if he heard. Xavier responds with wordless amusement.

"Warren. Of course I'll take it," Worthington says.

Angel's wings twitch. He raises them slowly, fluttering against the ceiling. His face is closed, but his wings betray his emotion. Hero ducks under his wing and hugs Angel around his waist.

"It's you he means? You saved him?"

"Yeah," Hero says. "He was lost and I found him."

Worthington moves towards them and Angel's wings twitch downwards. They both stop; then Angel takes a deep, audible breath and moves his wings up and back. Worthington embraces both Angel and Hero, one with each arm. Angel stands stiffly and doesn't return the embrace. Hero hugs him, though.

"Thank you, little girl," Worthington says. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

"Monica Oliveiro."

Angel abruptly ducks back out of the doorway. Scott gets up and goes after him at a run, trying to catch him before he takes to the air. He cuts Angel off like a sheepdog, not touching him, but standing inside his wingspan right outside the front door. Angel looks past him. "He still has the same car," he says.

"That's unusual?" Scott asks.

"He gets a new car every year." Angel looks over Scott's other shoulder, eyes flicking up and down.

"You thought that would be the end of it, huh." Not really a question. Angel looks down at the ground and nods sharply.

"Now I'm the asshole," Angel says, softly. He covers his mouth with his hands, fluttering his wings high above his head.

"I don't think you're an asshole. I think you're a man in a difficult position," Scott says.

Angel looks at him, hands still over his nose and mouth. He lifts up his hands enough to speak. "Can you bring him out here? Can't be inside." He darts away, wings pointed up at the sky, and paces up and down the driveway.

Scott steps just inside the door, keeping his eye on Angel, and gestures to Ororo, who's in the doorway to Xavier's study. "Angel wants to talk to his dad outside," he says when Ororo crosses to him.

Worthington turns. "You call him Angel?"

"And he calls me Hero," Hero says.

Angel walks fretfully around the Lexus. His wings are flapping, lifting him slightly off the ground with every step, but he's not bolting. He looks up when Worthington and Hero walk out the front door.

"I like her," Worthington says. "Did you really think I wouldn't like her because she's black?"

"Everyone else in the family is the same! All--" Angel gestures fretfully at his face. He closes his eyes, turning away, marching up and down the drive. His wings flap.

"Why do you still have the old car?"

"Because it wasn't any fun car shopping without you, son," Worthington says.

Angel's face contorts. His wings slam shut in front of him.

"I miss you, son," Worthington says.

Hero takes Worthington's hand and leads him over to Angel. She takes a wing in each hand and pries them apart. "Now you hug him," she tells Worthington, and he does.

*

God damned Gambit follows them north from New Orleans and Logan doesn't punch him in the face even once. He's damn proud of that. He thinks it shows personal growth.

Marie is a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Even if that decision is a damn gambling smirking long-haired American playboy. Logan tells himself this, she's a woman, not a little girl. Maybe if he says it enough it'll sink in.

Meanwhile he needs some goddamn air. He heads out for a run around the lake. Out the back door, past the lily pond, and hey, there's Adam, sitting cross-legged on a bench with a book. Logan walks over and stands too close to him until he looks up.

"Yes, my child?" Adam says.

Logan snorts. Wise old man act again. It gets tired fast. "You lied to me."

"When?"

"When you first came here, you said you figured out who I was, that I was raising sled dogs or some shit. You bald faced lied. Why?"

Adam leans back, shifting to lean back on his hand. "It was nice, wasn't it?" He gestures, like what more do you want?

"That's it?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"It was a lie, god dammit. I know who I am now."

"I didn't think you'd regain your memory, so I gave you something plausibly pleasant to replace it with. It was a friendly gesture."

"That's psychotic."

Adam shrugs. "I could play the older and wiser card, but that's a bit tired, don't you think?" He picks his book back up and bends over it.

*

The Guthrie boys stumble against Charles's study door, swinging it opens. He looks up.

"Who taught you to hang a door?" Duncan demands. "Get out of my construction site!" He waves a hammer at Logan, ducks around one of the Guthrie boys, and runs up the stairs.

"I was a lumberjack!" Logan yells back.

"Go cut a tree!"

Logan snorts and turns; he nearly runs into Quentin, who dodges him easily. Quentin marches into Charles's office. He's wearing a metal helmet not unlike Magneto's.

"Professor. I wanted to tell you I'm leaving the school," Quentin says. "After careful study, I've determined that the world is run badly and your methods don't work. I've decided to study under Victor Von Doom in Latveria, as he's the only one who ever says anything intelligent. And please don't try to change my mind. My helmet protects me from your influence."

"I see," Charles says.

"This is just a courtesy," Quentin says. "So that you can give my bed away. I've already sent everything I need to Latveria."

"Kid, game's over." Logan stands in the doorway, hands and feet blocking the frame. "Enough."

"This isn't a prison, Logan," Charles says.

Quentin squints at Logan. He flicks his hand and Logan falls over. The Guthrie boys stop and stare at Quentin. "You're metal," he says, stepping over Logan. "You're extremely simple."

He walks out to the front driveway, drags a small metal craft from its concealment under a tarp and gets in. Amazingly, it flies, and more amazingly, it takes off like a rocket. The sonic boom reaches them long after the craft is out of sight. The children watch the craft go.

Logan groans. Charles sighs, resting his head in his hand. Sometimes, one fails, and when one does, it is frequently spectacular.

*


	29. Exposure.

November 11, 2008. Events start fast and move faster.

"Thank you for coming," says Graydon Hammer. "Some of you know me from the boardroom. More of you know me from Forbes Magazine, where I've consistently ranked as the second richest man in the country, after my friend Tony Stark." He nods to Tony in the front row.

"And it's because of my friend Tony's good example that I have something to share with you." He pauses; takes a breath. Nervous. "I am a mutant."

Shock. Murmuring. Reporters jump up, but they're not miked. "You may think you know my history, but you don't. I was born in the French countryside in 1765. I am, in fact, older than this country. And I'm not the only one. I would like to urge the others like me--I know that you're watching--to step forward and let the young mutants of the world know that we exist. Thank you." He doesn't take any questions.

"I wonder how long before they find out he was a Nazi," Duncan mutters to Methos.

"Duncan MacLeod, muddying our heroes."

"He probably covered all the traces before he made the statement."

Carl Robinson--mayor of Heston, Missouri under his original name--is next. He admits to being Carl Robinson the star baseball player, resigns his post, and agrees to fully cooperate with the twenty-year-old murder investigation that was closed by his death. He makes a strong argument of self-defense and hires a good lawyer.

Then Carlo Polidari, also called Cassius Polonius, member of the Italian parliament.

Then Claudia Jardine, concert pianist. Duncan phones her, horrified; he's known her since she was a baby. "I'm a trendsetter," she says. "I just wish I'd thought to do it first! And I can afford bodyguards. How do you think I've lived so long?"

Then Terence Coventry, husband of novelist Carolyn Marsh, who uses it as promotion for her latest book. All these in the first week.

The real crisis comes when Texas Representative Winston Smith reveals that he did, in fact, die in that car accident two years ago. "If the great state of Texas wishes me to step down, I will. But I believe my gifts are given by God and I will serve my constituents for the next hundred years if they'll have me." In the discussion of the meaning of death under law that results, the coming out of surgeon Gregor Powers, top stuntwoman Ceirdwyn, and dozens of others is almost an afterthought.

"Shit," Logan says. "How many of us are there?"

"The Watchers are following 2500 of us. But..." Methos gestures around the room. "I have a file, Duncan has a hell of a file, Grace has a file. Hero doesn't. You don't. I'm pretty sure Representative Smith didn't. So who knows?" He doesn't mention Naraa or Kenneth.

Duncan calls Carl. "Why do you always turn up in the worst times?" Carl asks. "I'm fine. My constituents are paying for my defense, can you believe it? It seems they like me."

"You're a good man, Carl."

"Man, I know it!" He laughs.

"Why did you decide to come out?"

"I don't know," Carl says. "It just seemed like the thing to do."

*

It turns out Immortals have a lot of money and influence, once they decide to use it. Between the Great Immortal Outing--which gained the name and the capital letters almost immediately on the mutant Internet--and March 2009, two private schools (the Massachusetts Academy and the Hammer School) are founded and one public charter school (San Francisco) is established for the 2010/2011 school year in the United States. Immortals in India start a large private school near Mumbai and a number of other small schools that the Western media doesn't bother to cover.

A private school is started in Botswana, then a Muslim-only private school in Cairo, then an Arab-only royally funded school in Saudi Arabia.

The torrent of state schools comes next. China, England, Germany, Portugal, Switzerland, Sweden, Russia, Argentina, Costa Rica, Brazil. Two in Canada, Anglophone in Toronto and Francophone in Montreal.

Japan denies that Japanese mutants exist. Brazil--which has the largest Japanese population outside Japan itself--welcomes them, and several hundred families immigrate immediately. A flying mutant escapes from North Korea and reports that mutants have been detained there and probably killed.

Gina de Valicourt calls from France. "Duncan! We're taking in mutant children. Three sisters! I am a mother!"

"Really? Where did this come from?"

"I always wanted to be a mother! And we are front page headlines! They're calling me the new Angelina Jolie."

"You came out?"

"We did! Didn't you see?" She sounds hurt.

"I'm in the country," Duncan says.

"We're not afraid. We survived the Terror, we can survive anything. Are you still at the school?"

"Yes."

"Do you need money?"

"No. Be safe, Gina. There's a lot of bad feelings out there."

"Always."

But he feels uneasy when he pockets his phone. He finds Methos in the lounge, sprawled across the sofa. He leans over the arm and kisses Methos upside down.

"What's wrong?" Methos asks.

"I don't know."

"But it's something." Methos sits up. Duncan joins him on the sofa.

"Immortals aren't a secret any more," Duncan says.

"We were never well kept."

"It's only a matter of time before someone works out how to pick us out of a crowd. You're awfully calm."

Methos strokes his arm. "It's not my first time watching an apocalypse. After the first few, one learns how to cope."

"Does this feel natural to you? Everyone coming out? The gay movement took fifty years. I--never saw Gina as a social activist," Duncan says diplomatically.

"You think she's being forced? Gina? She nearly killed me. She doesn't know the meaning of fear."

"Not...forced. Not threatened." He shakes his head. He can't put his finger on it. He folds his hand through Methos's, feeling the metal under his skin. If he were unattached, he'd track this uneasy feeling back to its source, but he's not; he has responsibilities to the school, to this man, to their child. "But there's nothing I can do from here."

Methos checks his watch. "Annie will be asleep for another twenty minutes. Let's have a quickie."

"Yes, all right," Duncan says, and he lets Methos drag him upstairs.


	30. Media.

Gambit sprawls into Rogue's lap and turns a trouser-melting pout up to her. "Baby, suck my life out so I don't have to hear any more of this god damn awful Cajun accent," he says.

Her stomach turns. She pulls his hair. "Shut up, that's not funny."

"I'm serious, chére, they're paining me!" They're watching CSI: New Orleans with Jean-Paul and Peter. It's supposed to be the first mutant character on TV today. They're braced for the worst.

"Oui," Jean-Paul says. "I would put it on mute but Francis Capra's voice makes me melt." He's sitting in Peter's lap, Peter's arms around him. Rogue is lounging on the arm of the couch; Gambit is sprawled across the rest of the couch, his head and arm in her lap.

Rogue isn't even watching the TV. Gambit is too pretty. She twists his long hair around her finger.

Scott joins them. "Have they shown the mutant yet?" he asks. He sits in a chair between the couches.

"It's the girl," Rogue says. "She passes. I mean, they haven't said, but she was in that thing with the sailboats last year, and they wouldn't spend the money on her if she only had three lines."

"So sexy when you're thinking," Gambit purrs. Rogue smiles a little bit.

"Hey! Too young," Scott says sternly. "Go to bed!" He points at the Guthrie boys, all of them, stoppered in the doorway.

"But it's historical!" Sam whines.

"I want to see the mutant!" says a little Guthrie.

"I have to watch it first and see if it's appropriate," Scott says. "It's on the DVR. Bed. Now. Don't make me get your mom."

The Guthries kick their heels and retreat. Jubilee comes in with popcorn, holding it over their heads. Dani is behind her.

Jubilee smacks Gambit's ankle. "Move." Dani sits beside Peter and Jean-Paul. Aurore follows with two sandwiches on a plate, and squeezes between Dani and Peter. Her brother grabs the other sandwich. The twins are always hungry; well, all the speedsters are always hungry.

"Magic word?" Gambit asks. He wriggles a little in Rogue's lap.

"Now." Jubilee lifts her chin.

"Hey," Scott says, but Gambit is already rolling upright.

"You Northerners." He sighs and sags against Rogue's side. Rogue puts her hood up, just in case, and he leans his head on her shoulder. "Let's rise again, Rogue. Bring some civility."

"Wow, let's definitely take up the cause of slavery. That'll go well. You might be white but you're still a freak," Jubilee says.

"The War of Northern Aggression was not fought over slavery," Gambit says, and his body goes tense.

"Shush! Fight later! Jeez!" Rogue glares at both of them.

Jubilee writes in the air. "One rain check, redeemable any time, any place."

"Shh!" Jean-Paul hisses.

The girl--what's her name? Emma? Rogue thinks it's Emma--is back on the screen. She has a nonverbal scene where she acts secretive and tormented, and then they show her mutant power. She shoots lasers out of her eyes. Rogue looks at Scott, but Scott is hard to read behind the glasses.

Then Francis Capra is back, and Jean-Paul kicks his feet joyfully. He's analyzing burn patterns. "He's not wearing a mask. He's breathing all over the evidence," Rogue says.

"If that's your only problem with this show, I have some books you should read," Jubilee says. "How about the fact that the actor is Latino and he's white on the show?"

"I swear to God you go looking for stuff to piss you off," Rogue tells her.

"Baby, I do NOT need to look. It's all fucking around me."

"Guys," Scott says.

Jubilee eats her popcorn. Gambit wraps himself around Rogue.

Commercials for new cars and the new iPhone. Then Francis Capra is back and Jean-Paul squeaks. He goes to the school and looks at the scene of the crime and the girl is in the background, looking scared.

Back to the girl, in class, taking notes, and her notebook starts to singe. The girl freaks out and runs out of class, her eyes closed. She bumps into a janitor in the hall and opens her eyes; his uniform catches fire. They both scream.

Commercial break. It seems like there are more commercials now than when Rogue was a kid. She looks at Scott again, but he's still not showing anything.

"I never went to real high school. Is it like the TV?" Dani asks.

"Nobody wears clothes that expensive in real life," Rogue says.

"It is so boring and everything moves so slooooowly," Aurore says. "So everyone gossips about everyone endlessly. I was so glad when my ears turned pointed and Mama took us out of school."

"They weren't always like that? How does that feel? Did you just wake up and omg, pointed?" Dani asks her.

"Pointed and also floating. Both of us at the same time. And our hair changed color. We are butterflies," Jean-Paul says.

The show starts again and the girl is in police custody, in the interrogation room behind the mirror. She's crying. Capra and the other cops stand around talking about her and her uncontrolled mutation.

Then... then the girl stands up and looks in the mirror, still crying. She opens her eyes wide and shoots her lasers, which bounce off the mirror and back to herself. She falls. Rogue jumps. "Holy shit, she just killed herself!" she shouts.

Jubilee throws popcorn at the screen. "Mother FUCKERS!"

Scott sighs.

"This show is stupid," Aurore says. She stands and leaves. Jean-Paul looks crushed.

"Why, why would they do that?" Rogue says. She's talking to Gambit, Scott, everyone. "You can't put the first mutant on TV and then have her kill herself!"

"How do you solve a problem like Maria? You fucking kill her. They can't deal with us and they wish we would just die," Jubilee answers. Rogue is starting to think she has a point about, well, everything.

"We definitely won't be screening this for the student body," Scott mutters.

There's a lot of nonsense on the TV with actors standing around looking concerned. Rogue does not give a shit. She's just pissed off. Of all the storylines in all the world, they chose the one that ended? "Why didn't they make a star be a secret mutant? And live? God!" she exclaims. "I hate TV!"

The show ends early and the girl comes back on the screen. Weird. Rogue pays attention.

"Hi, my name is Emily Root, and I played a mutant character today. My character couldn't deal with her mutation and let it get away from her, and people died. But I have something to tell you. Her powers are real. In fact, they're mine. I'm a mutant. But I was able to stay in control and now I'm a productive member of society. If you are a mutant or know someone who is, get help. Get a handle on yourself. The Hammer School is here for kids, and the Hammer Training Center is available for adults. It's never too late." She smiles. She's very blond.

Rogue looks at Scott. Scott looks back at her. "That was interesting," he says.

Rogue lets her breath out and stands up. Gambit comes with her. "Can we have sex until I forget the last hour?" she asks.

"Your wish is my command." He sweeps her off her literal feet and she cracks a smile. It feels almost painful.


	31. Normal.

Rogue: Did you see that bullshit last night?

Caterpillar: Yeah  
Caterpillar: What the hell  
Caterpillar: I was really hoping for like  
Caterpillar: the mutant Uhura  
Caterpillar: a character to be proud of.

Rogue: I heard the next Die hard is going to have a mutant bad guy.

Caterpillar: John McClane is totally a mutant

Rogue: I wish he would just come out already  
Rogue: Gambit says what do you expect from a show with French accents that bad?

*

The Mutant Rights Alliance lays the smackdown on CSI: NO the next day. Rogue is just tired. Fortunately, there's a mutant bank robber to catch; they fly to Pittsburgh and hunt down a guy who's making himself long and skinny like a snake and slithering through bars to get the money.

"Wasn't this on the X-Files?" Highlander asks. He's holding one end of the guy.

"Yeah, I think so," Rogue says. She's holding another end. Wolverine has the middle. The guy is wiggling, but doesn't have any leverage when he's twelve feet long.

"Tooms," the guy says, relaxing. "The episode was called Squeeze so that's my handle. Would you let go my ass?"

Wolverine snorts. "No way, bub. I'm secure in my masculinity."

"It's me with the husband, actually," Highlander says.

"It's not a gay thing, it's a personal groping thing. Have some respect."

Wolverine raises his eyebrows but hooks his elbow in Squeeze's midsection instead.

"Thanks. I blame the X-Files, you know. Bad impression of mutants. Tooms was a villain for no reason, like being a mutant means you're crazy."

"So why did you take your name from it?" Rogue points out.

"Like I can say no to a name that perfect? Come on."

Storm arrives with a big bag. "Come on! Some respect!" Squeeze yells, but they put him in the bag for the police anyway.

*

At the end of December, the twins find out that the Canadian government has offered them free tuition in the Montreal school. They're the most powerful Canadian mutants yet discovered and the government doesn't want them in a foreign country. Jean-Paul calls daily and begs his mother to reconsider, but she says she can't afford to refuse.

Methos tells him, before he leaves, "Send us a postcard with the words 'changing leaves' on it if the school is safe. If we don't receive it, we'll come rescue you."

Jean-Paul straightens up. "Yes! I am afraid--"

"But only if it's a danger, not if you just miss your boyfriend," Methos says.

Jean-Paul flings his hands up. "Heartless!"

After the car leaves with the twins, Peter sits with Methos for a while. He's silent for a long time, staring down at his sketch pad as Methos reads, but then he says, "What if I never see him--"

His voice catches and tears spill down his cheeks. Methos embraces him, rubs his back, lets him turn his head away and sob silently. "You're not alone," Methos says. "In any way."

*

Duncan watches Annie spill lobster bisque down her shirt and despairs of a toddler's sense of humor. She'd made sure he was watching before she did it and now she's laughing her little head off.

"Look at that mess," he says, making Annie laugh more. He reclaims the spoon, which she doesn't approve of. Then, of course, his phone rings. It's Connor. "Hello?" He takes the spoon in his other hand and works on getting some food _into_ his child.

"Cousin. There was nearly an arson last night."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Only the arsonist. I broke his knee for him. Heh."

"And the building?" Duncan asks.

"It's all right. There was gasoline splashed against the walls but it only took off the paint. The fire department is helping us clean up."

"Thank Mary."

"Yes. The security system worked. Arclight saw them on the camera and hit the alarm. She got me to deal with him only because she thought her powers might ignite the gasoline. I like her, Duncan."

"Don't stake your heart. She's a lesbian."

Connor humphs. "And you're a shirtlifter-- _this_ decade. She may come around."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Do you think this was personal, or an attack on mutantkind?"

"Who can say?"

"You can. Let me know what you find." He hangs up.

"More lobser!" Annie grabs the spoon.

"For eating, not for bathing!"

"Lobser bath!" Which is the height of hilarity; Annie almost falls out of her high chair, she's laughing so hard.

He'll patrol the grounds later and check the security system. He smiles at his daughter despite the mess.

*


	32. Hammer.

Charles calls a meeting of the team plus Grace and Phoebe Williams, their new Immortal teacher. "Tell me what you know of Graydon Hammer," he asks them all.

Logan shakes his head, as does Ororo. Rogue says, "I see the advertising for the Hammer school all over the Net."

Phoebe speaks up. "He killed my student Edmund. My only student. He was in Berlin, in the thirties, having a grand time in the underground gay clubs, and Hammer--Heinrich Greich--used a Nazi raid on the club to isolate him and behead him." She looks at Duncan. "I can't prove that it wasn't a fair fight, but it's never seemed right to me."

"Hammer was a Nazi?" Charles asks. He had thought perhaps Hammer was in league with Erik, but clearly not.

"He joined up early," Adam says. "I was watching the situation carefully--I was in the Watchers already then. I'm fairly good at smelling trouble," he says, with a twisted smile and a brief projection of a memory of violence. "He was killed in action at Stalingrad and disappeared for several years, probably waiting out the war. He reappeared in New York and made himself an industrial magnate."

"How can you possibly keep track of everyone like that?" Scott asks.

The Immortals all laugh, or smile; Adam rubs his forehead. "My dear boy, if you don't, you die," Adam says. "I track him like I tracked the Kurgan or Kalas or MacLeod, back in his young and angry days." He cuts his eyes at Duncan. "I spent most of the twentieth century convinced this young buck was going to end up with my head, in fact. When he discovered the Watchers, I was sure of it. But then I held his sword to my neck..."

Duncan leans in. "Far too fair a neck to shorten." He kisses Adam sharply on the lips.

"I used to keep a diary," Phoebe tells Scott. "I have an excellent memory."

"We all have excellent memories," Grace adds. "I knew Hammer when he was still a student. I could tell he would survive; he had that cutthroat air. He's... four hundred years old, I think. A young man, at the height of his powers. Perhaps he's taking over from Duncan."

Ororo leans forward. "Taking over?"

"King of the Game," Grace says.

"Most feared," Adam says.

"Please," Duncan says.

"Even I know who you are, and I haven't been in the Game since Mad King George," Phoebe says.

Scott looks at Charles. His mind shapes a question wordlessly: Who is this man? Charles sends back reassurance: He is power, and power is feared, but he is harnessed.

He didn't add that the man was harnessed by Adam, who was far more terrifying. Scott didn't need to know that.

"Is this something you seek?" Ororo asks. "I don't understand the game."

"I never tried--I don't want to be a king. I just want to do what is right," Duncan says. "I can't sit by and let our kind... try to rule yours. The laws of our kind mean it's trial by combat--no, I can't explain. It's not just, but it's what we have."

"And it's rule by law now," Adam says. "We're out."

Duncan sighs and shakes his head. "Hammer. You can tell a lot by the name someone chooses."

"We need to watch this school of his and find out what it hides," Ororo says.

Charles nods. "Thank you."

Scott lingers behind the others. "Do you think he's in league with Magneto?"

"Likely not," Charles answers.

"Do you think we should ensure that? If we tell Magneto that Hammer was a Nazi..."

Charles folds his hands under his chin. It crossed his mind, of course. "Do we want to encourage war between our kind?"

"No, but..."

"But we're at war, regardless."

"Yeah. We need to keep them from joining up."

"I never told you what happened to Erik in Auschwitz," Charles says softly. Largely because the story isn't his to tell, but Scott needs to know these things.

Scott kneels beside his chair. "So tell me."

He touches Scott's hand and shares the memory of reaching Erik's anguished heart, that summer day, beautiful summer, in the shadow of the satellite dish... beautiful Erik, with walls around his heart. He penetrated that heart so briefly but he can never forget.

He shows Scott Erik's torture and mutilation. Erik was an innocent child once (and a murderer now, several times over, he reminds himself). So few people are born bad. So many more are made that way. He thinks Scott knows that Charles loves Erik as much as he hates him, but he doesn't _comprehend_.

How could he?

Scott looks up at him with his masked red eyes. "We need to keep our opponents divided. I'll talk to Adam, see if he has proof. I hate to say it, but if we knock out Hammer, his institution keeps going, and keeps helping mutant kids without whatever ulterior motive the man has."

"Thank you for being my pragmatist," Charles says. He wonders if this means Hammer's death. He accepts his share of the blame, a slight burden added to a heavy load.

*

Logan catches up with Grace. "Hey," he asks.

"Hey," she replies, smiling.

"Do I seem like a survivor? Would you look at me and say 'he's king of the game in a hundred years?'"

She turns and looks at him. "Logan."

"I want to know. I just--" He doesn't know who he is yet. The person he was without his memory, the person he was before he lost his memories, but who is he now?

"You seem like a survivor, but not the kind of man who will be king. You remind me of..." She smiles. "Darius. The way I heard he was before he was awakened. In a thousand years, you'll be a very wise man."

"Oh," Logan says. He has no idea who Darius is.

"You don't want to join the Game. It's a bloody, useless business. Better to be a teacher and a protector. Think, we have age and wisdom without the imminence of death. How wonderful!" She smiles.

Logan nods. Doesn't get it, but hopes he will some day.

*


	33. King.

This time, Duncan brings Methos and Storm, and Magneto brings Mystique and Sabretooth. "We haven't met," Magneto says, looking Methos up and down. "What an interesting skeleton you have."

"Goodness. I always thought my profile was my best feature. Pleased to meet you. My name is Janus." Methos extends his hand across the table. Magneto, lips curled in a slight smile, shakes his hand.

"We're here to discuss Graydon Hammer," Storm says. "These men are familiar with him."

Magneto nods. "The new player. Our game is expanding."

Methos sets a series of photos on the table, tracking Hammer from the French countryside to Nazi Germany. Magneto becomes very still at the last picture. Mystique picks them up.

"We don't know what his plans are, and we feel this is reason not to trust him," Storm says.

"In terms of our kind, 1945 is last week," Methos says. "He may have turned over a new leaf, but that's for him to prove."

"I am not so easily manipulated," Magneto says, his voice very soft and hard as steel. "I am not Charles's gun to point and shoot at his enemies."

"We would never have so little respect for you," Duncan says.

Magneto arches an eyebrow. "And you speak for Charles now?

"I'm his agent. We want a truce. There is too much past to ignore, but if we can present a united front, we will be all the stronger for it. Charles trusts that your interest is in the freedom of our kind."

"And yet you show me pictures of the mutant Nazi. No, we shan't be uniting any time soon." He stands and turns. Mystique and Sabretooth follow. Magneto pauses. "But tell Charles happy birthday for me."

"Many happy returns," Mystique adds in her odd, echoing voice.

"I'll tell him," Duncan promises.

*

"The Associated Press - 6 hours ago.

"A boy known only as "King Omega" has deposed the technocrat Victor Von Doom and claimed the throne of Latveria. The boy is believed to be American but his identity is as yet unknown. Von Doom has fled to Switzerland."

Scott forwards the release to Xavier. He titles the email "Quentin?"

Xavier replies: "Yes. And he is quite beyond my influence."

Scott: "We tried."

Xavier: "We may not have failed. He has good intentions."

*

"Shocking news from Latveria," the newsreader says. "Giant mutant-hunting robots, also known as Sentinels, are real. King Omega, the self-titled ruler of Latveria, told the world today that his predecessor, physicist Victor Von Doom, unleashed the machines on America as revenge for its treatment of him in the Galactus incident."

"COCKBREATH," Jubilee shouts. Adam clears his throat pointedly. "Sorry," she says.

"All Sentinel activity has been halted by the twelve-year-old 'king.'"

Jubilee does a dance of celebration on the carpet. Bobby joins her, and she even lets him grind against her leg.

"What's the Galactus incident?" Adam asks. Everyone else laughs at him. "Amnesia, you little punks," he growls. "Fine, I'll look it up on Wikipedia."

Bobby takes Jubilee's hand and they get low.

*

Bobby knocks on Scott's door, his arm full of papers. "Can you help me prove I'm independent of my parents?"

"Yeah, buddy," Scott says. He puts an arm around Bobby's shoulders. Bobby leans in.

*


	34. Rook.

Representative Smith wins reelection. Carl Robinson successfully proves self-defense. He stepped down as mayor for the duration of the case, but plans to run again next term.

"Some guy is shopping a movie about me," he tells Duncan. "What do you think, Denzel?"

"No. You're better-looking. Will Smith, definitely. Christian Bale should play me. He has that Batman training."

"What makes you think you're getting in my movie?"

"Who saved your life twice, you ungrateful bastard?"

"This is an inspirational story about my struggle through poverty and racism."

"I helped you struggle against racism!" Duncan shouts. Methos is looking at him with both eyebrows raised and Duncan can't help but laugh. "Fine. I'll see it twice and buy the DVD. I'm glad for you, Carl."

Carl laughs too. "Send me more baby pictures."

"Really?"

"I still can't believe you settled down with that crabby old string bean and it's been over a decade. I definitely can't believe you had a baby without pictorial proof."

Duncan snorts. "Carl says you're a crabby old string bean," he tells Methos.

"So's his mother," Methos replies loudly enough to be heard on the phone. Carl laughs.

Later, Duncan goes through his pictures and sends Carl a posed photo of himself, holding Annie, with Methos standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder. It's a classic Victorian pose. He includes the caption "Adam taught her to call me Mama."

Carl returns with an old photo of himself playing baseball. "You always encouraged me to do better," the caption says. "Your daughter will be queen of the world."

*

Logan knocks on the door. "Come in," Xavier says.

Logan enters. "I suppose you know what I'm going to say."

"I certainly do not. I don't snoop."

"Damn. I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk." Logan slides his hands into his back pocket and tries to choose his words. "The Sentinels are out of commission. You need teachers at the school, not fighters. I'm moving on."

"Moving on where?"

Logan shrugs. "Dunno. MacLeod is leasing me an apartment for a month or two so I can see if I can hack the city. I want to see what's going on in M-Town. I want to try not being a soldier."

"May we call you, should we need you?"

"Of course. Come on, Marie is here, she's my girl."

Charles tips his head back. "Your girl and another man's woman."

"I can deal with that," Logan growls. "She's grown. He's an okay guy, even if he is twenty years too old for her." He huffs and sticks his hands further in his pockets, straining the seams.

"Visit us often. Please."

*

Logan has everything he owns in a duffel bag. Story of his life.

He gets that allergic-to-Immortals feeling as he walks up to the door of the building, but he's expecting that. A man glances out the ground floor window. Duncan's cousin Connor MacLeod. Logan salutes him.

A woman opens the door to him. "You Logan?"

"Yeah."

"Arclight. Superintendent. You're in 6a. Outside key, outside key code, door key." She hands him the key ring. "Your friend has the spare."

"Friend?" Logan tenses up.

Arclight hands him a piece of paper. There's something written in a script he can't read, and it smells like....

He runs up the stairs, all six flights. Screw the elevator.

He unlocks the door and Naraa is already there. She jumps into his arms. Kisses him. "Jesus, I'm getting soft," she says. "I missed you."

"I missed the hell out of you too." He sniffs. "Who's here?"

"My new friend. Cassandra."

Logan looks past her. There's a woman in a chair by the window, another immortal.

"Pleased," Cassandra says. "I came to see what kind of man you are."

"Can we do this later?" Logan asks.

Cassandra smiles and stands. She gives him a long, hard stare as she passes, but doesn't say anything more, and she closes the door behind her.

"Bed's in there," Naraa says. Logan doesn't bother saying anything else.

*

Later--a while later--Logan and Naraa meet Cassandra for dinner. "We've been working on a project together. Emma will explain it. She knows you, do you remember?"

"Emma? Not that actress?"

"No. Not an actress." Naraa waves. Cassandra is sitting at a table with a blond woman and Naraa leads him over.

"Do you remember me?" the blond woman asks. "We only met for a moment."

Logan shakes his head. "I took a bullet to the head. I have some of it back, but not all of it."

"You knew my sister better. Kayla."

Kayla. It hits him like a fist to the chest. "I loved her," he says.

"I know. And you saved a lot of us, even if you didn't save her." Emma touches his shoulder. "I always knew I would outlive her. When I found her, I called her my niece. Fifteen years later and we're sisters. So I can appreciate...that you tried. And you made her as happy as you could."

He pinches his forehead. He's not crying in the middle of a restaurant. Dammit. Not in front of his lady. Not in front of strangers. "Five years wasn't enough," he says roughly.

"It's never long enough for us," Cassandra says. "Two of the house porter and two iced teas, please, and a plate of onion rings to start. Come back in a moment for the main course, please."

Shit. The waiter. Logan sniffs it down and Naraa takes his hand. "Sorry," he says.

"Don't apologize for grief." She grabs his face and kisses his forehead.

Logan looks at the menu. He rubs his eyes once or twice, maybe.

The onion rings and beer arrive. He orders a BLT and the ladies order trucker-sized plates of meat loaf and steak sandwiches and lasagna. Logan knows what's good for him and shuts up. "We've been working on a big project," Emma says.

"The biggest," Cassandra says.

"I was out looking for the remnants of Stryker's facilities. I thought I might find out more about what happened to me, but it's all be cleaned up. I was butting up against a brick wall when I ran into them."

"There aren't many of us old women. I took an interest. Emma is still a child, younger even than you," Cassandra says. "But powerful. The children are increasingly powerful. They need protection, though. They needed us."

"So we nudged them," Emma says. "As many as we could find, the older the better, just a little change of opinion to make them come out and join us. It worked well, don't you think?"

"What?" Logan says. "How?"

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," Cassandra says. Her voice echoes in his head.

"I miss sleeping in my brother's arms," Logan says, and jerks back in his seat. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn't incest, it was just, they only ever had each other, their whole lives. He misses his brother badly. "Jesus!"

Cassandra smiles at him. She looks superior. She looks like the enemy.

"They did good, don't you think?" Naraa says.

"Jesus." Logan slams up from the table and leaves. He doesn't know what the fuck to think.

Naraa doesn't chase him. He should probably call Xavier or MacLeod or someone and tell them about this. Cassandra got right into his head and made him sound like a damn pervert in front of his lady. She's making people do her bidding like a marionette. She made this whole thing happen--

This whole thing with money and schools and backing. People in power, not just kids. Fuck. He's standing and looking right at the Hammer Building in the skyline. Whether or not Hammer is a good guy, he's got money, and he's not going to let mutant registration or internment camps or mandatory testing go through Congress.

Do the ends justify the means? What the fuck does he know? He knew shooting up villages wasn't worth any end, but this? Just a little poke that means the world is better.

Damn it all. A century and a half and he's still a dumb grunt.

He turns around and goes back. He still wants Naraa.

The food has arrived. They left his plate alone. "Stay the fuck out of my head," he growls at Cassandra.

"I was never in your head. I was only in your actions. But I promise," Cassandra says.

Logan starts on his sandwich.

*


	35. Knight.

Methos and Duncan gave Logan a lift to the city; now they're shopping for baby clothes. Annie insists on walking, holding onto both their hands, so they're moving slowly and gathering a lot of stares.

"Why do you suppose so many mutants are blue? As opposed to pink like Marrow or green like Toad. Mystique, Henry, Kurt..." Duncan says.

"No idea. But the sky is blue, the ocean is blue, why shouldn't babies be blue?" Methos asks Annie. Annie giggles and swings from their hands.

"Aye, and a bonnie blue she is," Duncan says. "Shall we get you a blue dress?"

"Yes!"

"And a pink dress?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Green dress," Annie says.

"A blue dress and a green dress. All right."

They round the corner. Methos feels Immortal presence above and beyond Duncan's familiar buzz. He must have clenched his hand on Annie's because she says, "Ow, Daddy!"

"I'm sorry, my love," Methos says. But she pulls away from him and holds up her arms for Duncan to pick her up, which he does.

Methos looks around.

"You..."

Across the street. Methos frowns.

"Warren?" Duncan says.

"You!" Methos's mind spins briefly and comes up with Warren Cochrane, the man who killed his student in a fury. An old friend of Duncan's. They went to war together. The man now looks homeless; his hair and beard are long and unkempt and his clothes are dirty. Beyond homeless, in fact. Methos looked far better when he was a hobo.

Cochrane is crossing the street, ignoring the traffic shrieking to a stop around him. He draws his sword from his coat. "Oh my god!" shrieks a woman.

"Duncan, call 911," Methos says.

"What?"

"New world, Mac. Call 911." Cochrane is coming closer. Methos unsheaths his claws and the same woman shrieks again.

"It's not your fight! Take Annie!"

"New world, MacLeod!" Methos shouts as Cochrane closes. Methos holds up his claws before him in a boxing pose.

"And you," Cochrane hisses. "Stand aside, fancy man."

Methos jabs at Cochrane's face. Cochrane ducks backward into the street. Methos doesn't dare look at Duncan; he has to trust that Duncan will obey him and protect their daughter. Cochrane comes back with a wild swing of his sword.

Methos doesn't have his sword. He's stopped carrying it since he has the knives. It means he can't be disarmed and he has protection for his bones, but he doesn't have anything like Cochrane's reach. On the other hand, he can parry Cochrane's blow with the back of his hand. It slices through his skin but bounces off his metal-sheathed bones.

"We're friends, Warren!" Duncan shouts. He's a good distance away. "What are you doing?"

"Friends!" Cochrane lunges toward Duncan's voice and Methos darts to cut him off. He punches Cochrane in the shoulder with his knives. "Augh! Call yourself a friend when you didn't kill me!"

Cochrane pulls back and starts to fight him in earnest. Their blood flows. Methos has never had a fight in broad daylight in the middle of the city. It feels like a dream. "Of course I didn't kill you!" Duncan shouts behind them. Annie is wailing. "I tried to help you!"

Cochrane snarls. His face twists up like a mask. "Help me! Help me! We're damned things! We can't be helped! I told them..." He attacks Methos furiously. Methos has been practicing with Logan, though, getting used to his new body and abilities, and he meets Cochrane easily.

"Told who?" Duncan asks.

Methos grabs Cochrane's sword with one hand and punches him in the stomach with the other, disarming him. Cochrane staggers back and Methos drops the sword and kicks it away. A regular man might have his intestines falling out; Cochrane is recovering fast.

There's a large ring of empty cars around him. The sidewalks are empty. "Hey!" someone says above him. "That's enough of that."

Bloody Iron Man lands between him and Cochrane. "You again," Stark says, looking over Methos's shoulder at Duncan. "Who's the bad guy?"

"There's no bad guy," Duncan starts.

"Him, Warren Cochrane, is the bad guy, for attacking my husband and our child in the middle of the street!" Methos says, pointing. "Duncan, don't be so postmodern!" He turns and joins Duncan and Annie.

Annie is horrified, of course. Methos kisses her on the head and looks back at Cochrane.

Cochrane is scrambling for his sword. Iron Man grabs him. "Hey. Behave or I make you behave."

"You were supposed to die," Cochrane growls as he hangs from Iron Man's gauntlet. "Slut. And Duncan was supposed to kill me."

"Warren, did you tell Stryker where to find Adam?" Duncan asks. His face is drained beneath his tan. He looks heartbroken.

"Of course!" Cochrane screams. "And the one in California, and the one in Montana, and the one in Mexico, and the one in Kansas--"

"What's he talking about?" Stark asks.

Duncan shakes his head slowly. "Kidnapped people. Mutants like us...How could you, Warren? How could you do it?"

"It's no more than we deserve," Cochrane says. He struggles, and though his clothes rip in Stark's gauntlet, he doesn't get away.

Black vans pull up the sidewalk in both directions. Duncan rests his head on Methos's shoulder. He's crying.

*


	36. Bishop.

*

They're in the New York headquarters of SHIELD. Methos isn't exactly at ease, but of course Duncan is right at home. "He's wanted for the murder of Andrew Donnelly," Duncan says. "He's an Immortal--you know how to hold us, don't you?"

"We're aware," Agent Coulson says. He's sitting across the table from Duncan. "Do you mind if Director Fury sits in?"

"Fury?" Methos asks. He's cuddling Annie in his lap on a sofa. She's asleep, poor thing. She's had too many causes for nightmares in her young life. 

Coulson tilts his head. "Do you know him?"

"I tend to judge a man by his name," Methos says.

"It's just a name," Coulson says.

"Bring him in. There's a few questions he might be able to answer," Methos says.

Fury looks like his name. He wears an eye patch over a scar and Methos is reminded of Kronos briefly. (His brother, riding across the plains with him, inciting him to hate, joining him in murder. Methos was a different man then, but he still wonders if that man is still there beneath his skin.) Fury frowns when he sees Methos. "You were one of Stryker's men."

"One of Stryker's experiments," Methos says. "You cleaned up after him, didn't you?"

"We did."

"You have his records. You know how many he killed. Apparently Warren Cochrane was the one that found his subjects for him."

"How many?" Duncan asks.

"Do you remember Captain America?" Methos asks Duncan. "Did you know he was real?"

"Of course," Duncan says.

"He was a supersoldier. One of us, but not born that way."

Duncan sits up. "Impossible."

Methos shrugs. "Stryker was trying to make another. The process required a drug and a bolt of energy, which everyone else thought was electricity but Stryker thought was Quickening after he found Logan. He thought he could reverse engineer Logan, that Logan and Victor were supersoldiers produced in some Canadian lab, but then he found adamantium and his research changed. He gave Logan his claws so he could make a different kind of supersoldier."

"Mind if I take a look?" Fury asks Methos. Methos holds up his hand and extends his knives. "Pointy," Fury says. Methos retracts them.

"Stryker captured me after Logan escaped along with five others that I know of. Narantuyaa survived. Is there anyone else in captivity?" Methos asks.

"No."

The answer was too fast. This man has too much power. "With the understanding that I have the power to destroy you and the entirety of Western civilization," Methos says softly.

"Methos, for heaven's sake," Duncan chides. Methos ignores him.

"I believe you," Fury says. "Nobody is left. I'd be happy to give you a list of mutants and Immortals in jail for legitimate crimes, but a major part of the SHIELD project has been to ferret out all these little projects and evaluate them with enlightened self-interest. It is not in the interest of the United States government to create a class of extremely powerful people with a world-class grudge."

"That's very sensible of you," Methos says. He strokes Annie's head.

"You said there were five others including Naraa," Duncan says.

Methos nods. "I survived his process--the adamantium process--and so he tried it on another one of us and cooked her to death in the tank. I was near enough that the Quickening found me. Then of course he was interested in the Quickening and made me tell him how to free it, and he tried to funnel it into a human. That didn't work, of course, so he went back to making soldiers. He killed two more in the process before it worked on Narantuyaa."

"Did you take all four Quickenings?" Duncan asked.

"I did." It was awful. Quickenings make him feel like he's being ripped apart by the nerves. He can always feel the remnants of personality battering at him.

"I'm sorry."

"It happened. I'm still alive."

"What is a Quickening? We have Stryker's records, but they don't say much," Fury says.

"We don't know. It just is," Methos says.

"It's life energy," Duncan says. "It contains the essence of a person. It's what makes one of us different from one of you."

"'You' as in humans?" Fury asks.

"I like to think we're all humans," Duncan says.

"Don't be an ass," Methos says. "It's what makes us Immortals different from you humans, yes."

"I'm not an ass because I want to be see as human!"

"No, you're an ass because you're an ass," Methos says. But he loves him, and he says that part with his eyes, and Duncan sees.

"What does it mean to take a Quickening?" Fury asks.

"We...absorb the energy," Duncan answers.

"We eat them," Methos says. "If you've ever eaten shrimp...there's a way of preparing shrimp where you take it alive from the tank and cut the shell away from the flesh without killing the animal. It's delivered to your plate alive and wriggling and you bring it to your mouth and bite off its head." He looks into Fury's eye and knows he is being understood. "But a person instead of a shrimp, and afterwards, you remember it from both sides. I had to eat all four people alive. Some people enjoy that, but I don't. I never have. But anyone my age has had to do it over and over and over to stay alive."

The room is silent. Annie breathes noisily on his lap. Fury nods, once.

"What is your age, Mr Pierson?" Fury asks. "Or do you prefer Methos?"

"I'm only Methos to my friends and enemies," Methos says. "My age...I don't know. The calendar keeps changing." The first thing he can remember that he can date is a bull dancer in Knossos. He traveled there with Kronos back when Kronos was still curious about civilization, before he decided to hate it.

Methos wanted to stay in Crete. He found such a large gathering of people strange and interesting and the Cretan women felt much the same about his barbarian self. But Kronos wanted to go. Kronos always had the final say.

"Where are you from, Mr Pierson?"

Methos shrugged. "The seaside. The north. Somewhere in Estonia, I think. We didn't have bronze and we mostly ate fish and seals." He has a brief, unwelcome memory flash of his pack of fishing dogs from the era where he lived alone. He doesn't like to dwell on the past. If he starts to miss it, he'll quickly die.

"You all have very clean paperwork. I would have expected a lot more people to run afoul of the INS." Fury rubs his chin. "Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"I thought this was a friendly visit," Duncan says softly. "If not, it's time to leave."

"Perfectly friendly. Please, we're just clearing the air," Coulson says.

"What air is there to clear? We've stayed underground for centuries. We pass skills on from teacher to student and forging paperwork is one of them. You don't learn it, you lose your head, or else you live in a cave somewhere," Duncan says.

The door slams open and they all look up. Annie wakes up in Methos's lap. "Hey! My favorite nuclear family. What are those claws made of?" Stark asks without pausing. "Biological or man-made?"

Annie starts crying. Methos ignores Stark and hugs her.

"Captain America," says Duncan with no little awe.

Captain America is, apparently, a buff but gentle-looking blond man in khakis and a T-shirt. "You recognize me?"

"Of course. You liberated me from the Hydra base. We went on a long walk together."

Captain America looks him up and down. "How?"

Methos abruptly reaches his limit stands up. His child is exhausted, he's exhausted. The idea of men like Fury and Stark (and Coulson, so unnaturally calm) knowing him inside and out makes his skin crawl. He's going to lose his bloody mind if he stays much longer buried in all this steel.

Duncan can see this, bless him, and moves to embrace him. "Another time, Captain, I think. I trust we're free to go?" Duncan says.

"Always," Coulson replies.

*


	37. Pawn.

*

At home, in bed, they hold each other, don't speak, and don't sleep. Methos feels Duncans fingers stroking over the once-tattooed half of his face. Methos's hand lies on Duncan's throat. The thump of Duncan's blood beneath his skin is as mighty as the pulse of sap in an oak.

Annie wakes up and that gets them out of bed. She's fussy today, overtired. She asks about the sword man and why he sworded Daddy. "He was upset with me, darling, and Daddy protected me," Duncan explains.

"But why?"

"Because Daddy is strong and brave."

"No! Why did he sworded anyone?" She's on the verge of tears again. Duncan sighs and kisses her forehead. They manage to settle her down with Thomas the Tank Engine, a world in which nothing bad ever happens.

Some time during a long breakfast, both of them still in their dressing gowns, there's a knock at the door and it's Captain America. "I'm sorry, I should have called ahead. But--I thought I was the only one."

"Only one? Where have you been?" Methos asks. But he let's the boy in.

"Frozen in an iceberg."

"Oh, I've been there. Took me months to get warm again. Well, I was in Greenland. It took months to get warm full stop." Methos pours the boy some coffee.

"And when was this?" Duncan asks.

"1000 or so? Unfortunately, I got a bit mauled on a polar bear hunt and everyone saw me heal so they tossed me into the sea. I woke up a few decades later being poked by a very confused Inuit. Nice bloke. Married his daughter." Methos sips his coffee. It's laden with cream and whiskey and is doing wonders for his mood.

"Liar," Duncan says.

"Never." he bends down and kisses Duncan on the mouth.

Then they explain immortality and gay marriage to Captain America. These sorts of things never used to happen to Methos before he met Duncan.

*

Naraa is out getting her stuff--she announced that she's moving in with him, she's finished with Cassandra and Emma--so Logan heads downstairs and knocks on Duncan's door.

It's answered by fucking Captain America with Annie asleep on his shoulder. He holds a finger to his lips.

"The fuck you're really Captain America," Logan says softly.

"Steve, please. Hi." He holds out his hand and Logan shakes, wondering what the fucking fuck. "She's been fussy," Steve whispers. "Duncan and Adam are getting dressed and she fell asleep on me."

"Yeah, she does that." Her nictitating membrane is covering her half-closed eyes. She's really out cold. And she's being held by fucking Captain America. Logan used to see him in newsreels, war shorts and bond ads that made Victor grumble and flick popcorn at the screen.

"I should get back--" Steve looks over his shoulder. "Adam. Do you think I can hand her to you?"

"Oh yes. Once they're out, they're unconscious." Adam takes his daughter. He looks tense. "Good morning, Logan. Do stop by again, Steve."

"Thank you for explaining things, sir."

Captain America leaves. "Sir," Adam mutters.

"You're his elder. Sir."

"Fuck off. What do you want?"

Duncan emerges from the bedroom. "Don't be rude to my tenant, Methos." Adam snorts.

"I found out why all the Immortals came out," Logan says. Duncan and Adam draw closer together and look at him. "A woman named Cassandra--"

Adam flinches. He turns and retreats into the bedroom with Annie. "Cassandra," Duncan says. His voice is heavy and pained.

"And another woman. Emma."

"Emma Frost?"

"Yeah. Worked with Sebastian Shaw back in the day. I checked with Marie. They said--they fucking sat down and talked to me like this was normal--they pushed people in their heads to make them change their minds. It was all them."

Duncan sits on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. He doesn't say anything.

"Yeah," Logan says. He sits down across from Duncan.

"It's not even illegal," Duncan says. "Unless, perhaps, assault? But--" He shakes his head. "We should..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"We should do nothing," Adam says from the doorway. Duncan turns his head but doesn't look at him.

"And let them just mess with people's minds and get away with it?" Logan asks.

"It happened," Adam says. "It is done. What happens next doesn't change that. So you can reveal everything, create outrage, tell the public that such a thing is possible, and have us all killed, or you can _shut up_ , never tell anyone, and we can survive."

"You're right," Duncan says softly. "Will Cassandra and Emma tell anyone?"

"I think I was a test," Logan says.

"Did you tell Xavier?"

"No. Not even Marie."

"It stops here," Adam says. "Now. No further. Logan, you need to be the messenger."

Logan nods, then thinks. "Wait, why don't you want to talk to her?"

"Because the last time we talked to Cassandra, she had a sword to my throat," Adam says. "Next time, she might not listen to Duncan when he asks her to stop. Those are once in a lifetime events, I find."

"What the fuck happened?"

Duncan looks up at Adam. They both look suddenly older, and Adam grimaces like he's in pain. "I'll need a bottle of vodka before I even consider telling you that," Adam says. "Suffice to say she had a well-earned grudge."

"Can you do this?" Duncan asks.

"Yeah," Logan says. "I've done shit way harder than talking to a lady, bub."

*


	38. Future.

*

Scott shows Charles the budget he's prepared. He wants to build a second building with the money Worthington donated. Charles isn't sure he wants the school to expand, not with their secret underneath. "I'll look it over," Charles says.

Scott smiles. Charles holds his breath; he's not sure he's seen that since Jean died. "look it over and tell me how wrong I am," Scott says.

"Scott. I don't think you're wrong to want to help more children. I will consider the feasibility of the plan."

Later, he receives a phone call from Duncan, who tells him about the attack from an old friend turned enemy. "Are you all right otherwise?" Charles asks.

"Yes. Warren...I don't understand. I never will, I think. But we're safe."

"Good," Charles says.

*

Caterpillar: Girl  
Caterpillar: Today I woke up in a shell and when I touched it it fell apart  
Caterpillar: I CAN CONTROL THE SHELL

Rogue: WAY TO GO

Caterpillar: Today I am a man.

*

Later, Hero and Angel marry in a civil ceremony. Angel's father witnesses.

*

Later, Magneto kills Graydon Hammer and flees to Genosha.

*

Later, Rogue graduates from college with a degree in politics. She and Gambit are still together, at least some of the time.

*

Later, Ororo and Kurt have their first baby. She's purple. She can change her shape. She spends much of her toddlerhood as a puppy.

*

Later, Latveria joins the EU as a constitutional monarchy. The people love King Omega.

*

Later, Namor rises, the Avengers shuffle membership, Nick Fury is a constant lurking presence, Graydon Hammer's school is very worrying indeed, Spider-Man retires and comes out of retirement, MXBB music from M-Town becomes all the rage and then goes out of fashion just as quickly, but most importantly, Annie has a scholarship to the University of Atlantis.

She's no longer an ugly little girl. Around puberty, she bloomed vivid orange and black markings all over her body and elegant fins on her wrists and ankles. Her striking eyes are now riveting. She's a lovely young woman.

And she's leaving. There's a transport to Atlantis off the pier at Coney Island. She's always been able to breathe underwater, even in salt water, so it's like returning home for her.

But she's leaving home. Duncan isn't all right. He's trying to be, but he's not. He hugs her tight.

She's so tall. She's grown. It's only been seventeen years; surely that's not enough time to turn a baby into a woman. "Call me every day," he says.

"I will, Mama."

"I'll miss you so much!"

"The Internet makes everybody neighbors, Mama," Annie says.

Duncan sighs. He has to let her go so she can hug Methos.

Methos kisses her cheek. "Don't take any wooden nickels."

Annie laughs. "Seriously?"

"If any dolphins get frisky, punch them in the eye."

"Dad!"

"And stay away from sharks."

"I can beat up dolphins _or_ sharks, dad." She developed super-strength and limited telepathic communication along with her lovely skin. She frowns. "Dad, are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Because you seem worried or freaked out or something."

"My little girl is traveling to the bottom of the sea. Of course I'm worried."

Annie hugs him again.

Then it's time to go. She picks up her traveling bag and goes, down into the bubble transport, waving as the sea closes around her.

"What are you really thinking about?" Duncan asks Methos.

"It's time for me to go as well," Methos says.

"Divorce? We always said we would when Annie was grown, but I kind of like being married to you."

Methos shakes his head. "Go...somewhere else. I need a break."

"From me?"

"From people. From everything. I've been nervous for a long time, MacLeod." He sighs and looks out to sea. "I'm going to go into the sea as well. I won't drown. Ramirez taught me his magic trick."

"Yes, and why didn't that ever work for me?" Duncan asks. "I'd like to breathe underwater too."

"Magic."

"You're just not telling."

"Magic," Methos says again. He quirks a little smile.

Duncan touches his shoulder, and when Methos doesn't object, folds him into his arms. "Are you going now?"

"Would it make a difference if I went tomorrow?"

"I could buy you a wetsuit if you waited until tomorrow. I don't like to think of you cold and soggy down there."

"Mac. I love you, you idiot."

"I love you with my whole heart, you stringy old crow."

"I'll be back eventually."

"I'll be here," Duncan says. He kisses Methos on the cheek.

*

And the next day, Methos walks into the ocean, and Duncan watches as long as he can. He takes a few deep breaths before he calls Annie.

*

Later, but not much later, Scott Summers (now headmaster of the school, retired from the X-Men) gets a message from Magneto: "I made a discovery of interest. Will drop by tomorrow under flag of truce."

He means a literal flag of truce, Scott finds, when he wheels Professor Xavier into the front driveway. Magneto's traveling sphere is flying a white flag from the top.

When the sphere dissolves into ball bearings, Scott falls to his knees. Inside stand Magneto, Mystique, and Jean.

"She's harder to kill than we thought. She lost her memory, but I'm sure you can help her recover it," Magneto says.

"Scott?" Jean says.

Scott can't cry, not since he was a teenager, so he can see as Jean approaches him.

"I remember you. I don't remember anything, but I remember you," Jean says.

Scott holds up his hands and Jean takes them and he's embracing her for the first time in so, so many years.

"Thank you," Professor Xavier says.

"I'm not a monster," Magneto says.

"I never thought you were, Erik."

Scott can't even speak.

*

Mystique walks inside. It's been a long time since she was welcome in this house. It hasn't changed much.

There's a purple girl on the stairs. "Hello," she says, bold as brass.

"Hello."

The girl looks her over and changes her shape to mimic Mystique's. "I like your scales," she says.

"Are you Maya?" Mystique asks.

"Yes. My mama is Ororo Munro and my papa is Kurt Wagner."

"I know," Mystique says. "I'm your grandmother."

"No you're not. I don't have a grandmother."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do."

"No I _don't_!"

"No, you don't," Mystique says.

"Yes I do!" Maya dissolves in giggles.

Mystique smiles.

*

the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. After eight years, that is that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustration for Unalienable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/263307) by [ratcreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratcreature/pseuds/ratcreature)




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